


Curse of a Succubus

by cozymedusa



Category: Original Work
Genre: Adventure, Dark, Drama, F/F, Fantasy, Lesbians, Magic, Monsters, Revenge, Romance, Succubus, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:06:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27805057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cozymedusa/pseuds/cozymedusa
Summary: Bitter archer Annis seeks revenge across the globe of a treacherous world and encounters the mysterious Simaetha in a tavern, fending off swaths of fawning admirers. Upon realizing the woman has something she wants, her lifelong journey grows infinitely more complicated. The two happenstance companions struggle to adjust to one another while pursuing their own goals, but will traveling such a dangerous land bring them closer, or push them apart?
Comments: 9
Kudos: 8





	1. Mournstead

The dinge and grime of the Huntsman’s Den was the only warmth to be found within the repugnant hamlet of Mournstead. Its thin walls were tossed about viciously by howling winds. The ale had aged even more horribly than the pub’s owner, who lurched about behind the counter like a gargoyle on the rafters. Wanderers flocked to it, moths to a flame, coming for the heat and staying for the cheap beds. Few spent more than one night, their stomachs turned from either the stale bread or poor company. Yet the occasional passerby would become entangled with a certain guest - the infatuation so strong that they may even take up residence in the surrounding hovels to court her with greatly varied success.

It was during the night that a traveler found their way into the wayward settlement by happenstance. A lack of supplies as well as the bone-chilling cold had the visitor seek proper shelter for the first time in well over a fortnight. Travel in the kingdom was aimless, and to risk doing so at all was a sign of great bravery. In a typical hamlet, anyone passing through would be swarmed by locals spouting questions of the surrounding world - where had they come from? What had they seen? Was there news of the plague, of the king, of witches or beasts? Yet in Mournstead, the streets were empty, and even upon entering the perceived community hub of the glowing tavern, this traveler received no fanfare.

Knowing nothing of what she had happened upon or where she found herself, naturally Annis sat at the bar. Tables were filled with unimpressive men, lacking in physical stature and strangely enough, a surprising number were also missing hands. It was hard not to note the odd ways some customers balanced mugs atop two rounded knobs, or gesticulated without fingers. Perhaps the most peculiar part about it was how it wasn’t turning anyone else’s heads. It seemed far from a quaint politeness either, instead a genuine comfortable acquaintance with the abnormality. Annis wondered if perhaps it was hereditary, or if there had been a recent outbreak of leprosy. Regardless, with some difficulty her own eyes were averted as well.

The barkeep approached with a tired reluctance. Though still sporting both hands, his lips were strangely stained a dark, ink-like color. “Drink?”

“Information.” Dented coins were placed upon the counter. It was clear that this man wasn’t much for small talk. Every word seemed to claw its way from his scratchy throat like bats from a cavern. “Where are we?” 

The barkeep sloppily poured a cup of ale. “Mournstead. Ain’t much here for ya. Where did you come from?” His interest was contrived - more of a nicety than a curiosity. 

“East.” 

“Through the woods? Hmmph. We lost a man in there not a month ago. Told him not to go. Everyone told him.” The barkeep half mumbled to himself. When he realized Annis had yet to touch the ale, he took it for himself, gulping down half the pitcher in a few swigs. 

“Condolences. I didn’t see anyone besides beasts.” Annis realized this man might not be of much help and turned her attention to the clientele. They were all rather preoccupied with one another, speaking in low tones across short spaces. 

“Which way to Hallow’s Keep?” The question was a tall order, and its weight was not lost on the barkeep. 

He laughed a hoarse, choking laugh, “Lass, if I knew that, I would’ve taken a carriage there ages ago. You ask that like you truly expect an answer. Optimism’s a rare thing nowadays.”

“You mistake my desperation for optimism.” Annis felt no hesitation in confessing that. Her search seemed neverending, and she had long since grown weary. “Would anyone here have an idea? Even of a vague direction?” 

For a moment, the weathered man genuinely gave it some thought. He took pity on the aimless girl. It was hard to doubt that Annis was capable, based simply on her having made a successful venture through hostile forests holding innumerable beasts. Yet no matter how well equipped and skilled someone may be, any traveler could get lost in the wild. 

“Simaetha has a fair share of stories. Either she’s got quite the imagination, or she’s really been halfway ‘cross the world. She’s usually there, in the side room. May be hard to part the crowds.” He jutted his chin toward a decrepit archway partially obscured by throngs of locals.

Annis gave him a kind thank you. The transfixed villagers begrudgingly let themselves be parted, muttering insults and curses from the interference. There were scattered murmurs among them, mutterings of what seemed like awe. Repeated whispers of “Simaetha” filled the air and gave it a strange density. 

A woman, someone anyone in the vicinity could discern was Simaetha, sat at a round table in the center of the small room. It was surrounded by men of all creeds and status, staring with various degrees of subtlety at her. Although there were multiple chairs at her sides, they were all empty. She spoke to no one, unbothered by her onlookers as she idly flipped through a large tome. Annis stopped still, gripped by an unexpected intrigue. For a few moments, she felt akin to the gawking crowds for a reason she couldn’t quite understand. Her mind grew clouded, forgetting her purpose for the first time in over a decade.

Simaetha flipped a page of her book. Those observing dared to take a slight step closer, prompting her to lift her gaze to them. Upon doing so, Annis realized something unique about her pupils. They were thin and vertical, slim among wide, golden irises. Annis remained rooted. The unnatural nature of the physical feature would have given anyone pause, and in most cases may have incited a riot accusing Simaetha either of witchcraft or beasthood. Yet for a still unclear reason, a gaggle of perfectly able-bodied men only stared. 

When Simaetha’s eyebrows knitted, it acted as a wordless command. The onlookers communally stepped back to their previous distance. Annis stayed put, unaware of the unspoken customs of the Huntsman's Den’s side room. Her lack of compliance drew Simaetha’s attention.

The thin, lithe, and stunningly picturesque woman tilted her head. “And who exactly are you?” The voice of Simaetha silenced all of the hushed murmurs in an instant. 

All at once Annis felt frozen, ill-equipped and unprepared. Despite the innumerable prior dangerous experiences she’d had until that point, something about Simaetha was indescribably intimidating. It wasn’t necessarily a physical threat, but it was clear that Simaetha was unlike anything Annis had encountered, or would ever encounter again. The confusion, unfamiliarity, and intimidation made Annis feel at an inherent disadvantage - something that made her cautious and disdainful. 

Yet she stood her ground. Even further, she dared to cross the established barrier and sit across from Simaetha at the table. The locals shifted, shuffling to fill the space she left, though her advance did not embolden them. They seemed content to watch - to stare at Simaetha’s porcelain skin and fiery hair with rapt infatuation. 

“Annis. I came from the east.” For proof of her origin, she set down her dagger. Wrapped around its blade was a deep red vine - the same that spiralled the tree trunks from the forest she’d traversed for agonizing months. 

Simaetha reached for it with long fingers - taking it by the hilt and bringing it close to her chest. Under any other circumstances, Annis would never have allowed one of her weapons to be taken by a total stranger, but her normal defensive instincts seemed completely absent in the mere presence of Simaetha. Instead she simply watched as the woman pricked the side of the vine open with a sharpened, black nail - releasing the liquid within. It trailed down the hilt, pooling atop the table. 

“Sanguine vine.” Annis watched, enthralled as Simaetha willingly pricked her thumb with one of the plant’s barbs. “Vicious thorns. Its sap will leave you with blistering hives...” She set the blade back down onto the table, sliding it delicately toward its owner. “Thankfully, simple water will ease the pain. Though I’m sure you would have discovered that yourself.” 

Simaetha’s immediate recognition of the fauna proved to Annis that she had at least been brave enough to venture past the confines of Mournstead. 

“I need directions to Hallow’s Keep.” Annis ignored the murmurs from the audience at the mention of her famed destination - a rumored paradise so elusive with a governing force so distant, some wondered at its reality. 

Simaetha scoffed, “The fabled kingdom’s heart? Are you hoping to be knighted?” She laughed to herself. There were scattered chuckles from the crowd as well, mimicking her emotion like puppets. Annis glanced at them, her initial confusion morphing into unease. It was evident that Simaetha needed only point her finger, and the onlookers would do her bidding. Annis had never seen followers so devout, not even in the select cults she’d come across.

“My intentions are my own, you need not know them.” The usual hostility of Annis’s demeanor was enough to quell any remnants of laughter. Simaetha tilted her head in curiosity, but did not ask any other humorous questions. Annis simply leaned forward in her seat, traced her dagger’s blade against the table, and repeated her earlier statement. “I need directions to Hallow’s Keep.” 

Simaetha smiled to herself, “Normally, I would ask, ‘who are you to be making such bold demands of a stranger?’ Yet that,” She pointed toward the patch over Annis’s left eye, “tells me you’ll not be very receptive to any questions.” She reached to one of her voluminous curls and twirled it with her finger. Her onlookers collectively held their breath, frozen from the gesture. Oddly, Annis felt her own breath get caught in her throat for a fleeting moment as well. “Did Morley tell you of the map, then?” 

“Map? I’ve heard nothing of a map. Do you have one?” 

“Calm yourself.” Simaetha did her best to take control of the situation, although she knew that the mentioning of such a thing would cause commotion. Annis looked around her, expecting anyone else to react similarly, but they were unaffected. “Yes, I do have a map. Though you’ve given me no reason to share it. Since I am feeling oddly generous today, I will tell you: according to it, Hallow’s Keep is west of here. Far west. I wish you luck on your journey, there’s much adversity in your path.” 

With that, Simaetha pushed her chair from the table and got to her feet. Annis watched with wide eyes as the hourglass figure passed her by, parting the crowds without a word. Their heads turned, craning on their necks to stare, but none followed. Even Annis was inexplicably compelled to stay put. Once Simaetha had left, the air tangibly shifted. The previously stupefied onlookers blinked themselves to awareness and dispersed, scattering about the rest of the pub. Annis took a minute or so to herself, clarity returning to her mind as she reevaluated the situation. 

“West” was vague. Surely it was more direction than she’d had, and to be fair, Simaetha gave her what she’d asked. Yet she also hadn’t known that a map was even in the realm of possibility. One of the rarest artifacts to come across, and if Simaetha was to be believed, it was in that very building. Thus, at that moment, Annis made her decision.

As the hours wore on and the residents of Mournstead filtered out of the pub, Annis stayed put. The barkeep, Morley, pushed in chairs and wiped down tables with a filthy rag. Once only the drunkest of souls remained, he approached her.

“Are you going to purchase a room, miss? I’m closing up.” He reached to wipe the pool of sap away, but Annis stopped him. 

She placed a handful of coppers into his hand mindlessly, and he let her be. It was only when he extinguished the torches and plunged the tavern into darkness that Annis stood from the table. She ventured down the sole corridor, pressing her ear against each door she passed. Beyond most there were only snores, perhaps the occasional cough. Rays of warm, flickering light shone beneath the cracks of a few. Annis knelt, peering through keyholes for any signs of Simaetha. At the farthest end of the hall, through the last door she inspected, lay a cozy den of a room marked notably with signs of long term inhabitance. It was personalized and lived in. Most significantly, it appeared empty. Yet Annis could tell whom it belonged to. 

There was a window on one of the walls that rattled loosely from the wind. Acting as swiftly as she could, Annis retreated to her barren husk of a purchased room and vaulted out her own window into the harsh night. A cold air bit at her nose and ruffled through the thin folds of her tunic. It made her shudder, gripping the cobblestones at her back with chipped fingernails. These conditions reminded her even more firmly of her motivation for her anticipated theft. Venturing into the wilds without a tool for navigation may very well entail certain death, and she had wasted far too many years wandering. 

Simaetha’s window was locked, but the mechanism was wanting. Annis made quick work of it with a thin blade, wrenching the glass open and letting herself inside. Although she was there for an explicit purpose and should minimize her time in such an incriminating position, the aura in Simaetha’s room was indescribably welcoming. Scented candles littered most surfaces, their aromas wafting gently in the air. A bedspread with a uniquely woven quilt was tousled in a familiar and oddly nostalgic fashion. Worn books lay stacked and dog-eared upon a desk of oak, ink splattered quills staining forgotten parchment. An assortment of instruments were carefully placed in a basket besides the window that a clumsier intruder may have loudly knocked over, but Annis narrowly avoided it by a footfall. 

Permitting herself only a few moments of observing, Annis started her search. There were trunks, chests, and drawers to comb through, and that was assuming Simaetha would conceal something valuable among other such frivolous parchments. With deft fingers Annis swiftly flung open any container within reach, rooting through its contents as quietly as possible and grimacing at the slightest produced noise. 

She was so deeply engrossed that when a door opened over her shoulder, the sound was soft enough to mistake it for one further down the hall. 

In the next instant, she was pinned against the wall. Two blades unsheathed in unison, but one moved faster - pressing against the skin of Annis’s neck and stopping her dead in her tracks. The traveler was nose-to-nose with none other than Simaetha, golden eyes glistening with rage. One of her hands pinned the thief’s wrist violently to the wall, sharpened nails leaving scratches against even calloused skin. 

“Let me go.” Annis demanded coldly, the commanding nature of her glare not quite reaching her voice. 

Simaetha arched a thin brow, sharpened dagger retreating ever so slightly. Annis swallowed hard at the blade‘s removal, sweat dotting her brow.

“This is strange. You’re unaffected.” 

“What?” 

“Something else dominates you. I wonder what? Anger? Hatred? Grief?” Simaetha’s nails tapped against Annis’s wrist with each inquisitive word. Her angry visage was waning.

“ _Release_ me.” Annis took what she recognized as an opportunity and shook free from the loosened grasp of her attacker. She distanced herself, raising her own knife, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Simaetha’s previous agitation and reflexive assault was forgotten entirely by her as her dagger returned to its sheath. “Typically, I would have had an affect on you. Like those in the tavern.”

The strangeness of the crowd’s behavior had far from left Annis’s mind. It had lingered since she’d first encountered them - since she’d parted their ranks and felt even herself become oddly captivated. The fact that Simaetha was not only addressing it, but seeming to take responsibility for it was unexpected, and yet again, Annis felt utterly unprepared. 

“What did you do to them? Are you a witch?!” Knowing that magic may have been used on the population of Mournstead was enough to make her chest constrict. A primal urge to flee, or even to lash out with her weapon overtook her at the concept of witchcraft. She’d felt the strange pull, she’d stared with rapt infatuation that she hadn’t understood. Magic would explain it, and magic was not something to be trifled with. 

Simaetha was utterly unaffected by the aggressive accusation and shift in stance. She simply smiled - an odd, sad smile. “No. I wronged a witch.”

Annis lowered her weapon just as that fleeting smile faded to nothing. A statement such as that was not to be taken lightly. It entailed an ironic punishment that led to nothing but immeasurable suffering - stories that tended to act as cautionary tales for lapses in moral judgement. In truth, the threat was all too real. Annis abruptly felt a sympathy she most certainly hadn’t expected to be faced with upon this impromptu robbery. 

The silence that spread weighted down on the two women, an unspoken understanding lingering in the air between them. Simaetha took a long breath, as if steadying herself, and sat cross-legged in the center of her bed. Although Annis still clearly had a weapon in hand, and her stance hadn’t entirely shifted from one of combat readiness, Simaetha either didn’t consider her a threat or simply did not care. 

“It’s alright.” Simaetha finally spoke, “You may ask.” 

Annis, quite pointedly, did not ask. She felt all at once entirely out of her element, despite having conducted more than her fair share of late night thefts. She had come there for a map, and she still planned to leave with one. Though even she knew she couldn’t continue her search while Simaetha sat so closeby. Torn between a course of action and admittedly rather curious, the traveler stood, silent.

Simaetha correctly interpreted the silence as tacit inquisitivity. “I courted a married man. It was a passionate affair, youthful love. I’d heard the rumors of his wife’s witchcraft, and ignored them. Like a fool.” Her tone was one of wizened regret.

“You risked your own life for a man?” The pity Annis felt was outweighed by her judgement.

“I risked my life for love.” Simaetha stared at her intruder with those golden eyes, flickering a reflection of a nearby candle that made them nearly glow. Annis tangibly felt herself being picked apart piece by piece, and she shifted where she stood, as if to conceal her innermost self from the prying gaze to no avail. “Ah. I see.”

“What?” 

“You’ve never been in love. You couldn’t understand.” 

“Do not speak for me.” The defensiveness Annis felt confused her, though it was partially due to the intimacy and familiarity that Simaetha spoke with. The two did not know each other, far from it, yet Simaetha was treating her as if a long lost companion, a time-weathered acquaintance. Annis couldn’t help but sneer. 

Simaetha did not flinch from the sting to Annis’s words, unthreatened and unintimidated. “If you’d truly been in love, you wouldn’t be so accusatory. I understand. From an outsider’s perspective, it was thoughtless. Even reckless. To me, in the moment? It was the only thing I could do.” 

Her wistful explanation was met with a dismissive scoff, “The _only_ thing? To enrage a witch?” 

“I did not know she was a witch.” 

“Even the rumors should have been enough of a deterrent--” Only then did Annis look past her warm surroundings and Simaetha’s calm demeanor to recall what she’d come there for. Though first and foremost, she felt that after this particularly strange encounter she at least deserved an explanation. “This is irrelevant. What did the witch do to you?”

Simaetha leaned back against her headboard, crossing her arms over her chest. For the first time in this encounter, she hesitated. Despite being incredibly forthcoming until that point, the actual confession of her true nature gave her pause. Annis stood, frozen in suspense, for what must have been an entire minute. The air did not move. Simaetha’s golden eyes, for a quick moment, glanced at the knife in Annis’s hand - addressing its presence for the first time.

“I am a succubus.” 

Annis’s natural and initial response was an incredulous eye roll. The mere concept was preposterous - one restricted to myth. Yet there wasn’t the faintest trace of dishonesty in Simaetha’s disposition. Her expression was one of vulnerability, even fear. No words were spoken. Simaetha felt no need to prove herself further, or to repeat her weighted words. She instead waited, and gave Annis time. 

The dragging silence led to the realization of a harrowing truth. Annis tightened her grip on her blade. Again, she wondered if she should flee - if this map was truly worth the danger. She did not doubt her own capabilities - she could defend herself. Despite the very incriminating confession, Simaetha stayed put. No motions were made to arm herself, or to leave. Annis had faced innumerable beasts in her travels, yet not one had been nearly so polite. 

Dozens of questions burned atop her chest, though one was more prominent than the others and clawed its way from her throat. More potent than her disbelief and skepticism was her utter confusion. Simaetha’s casual nature, her complete comfort and unwavering charisma even in the face of unknown danger, none of it made a modicum of sense. 

“Why would you tell me that?” 

“Why not?” Simaetha shifted from her position. Annis raised her blade. The mysterious woman simply stared at the antagonistic gesture, stopping still. Annis made no other approach. After a few moments of caution, Simaetha moved once more. Annis did not attack, watching as she retrieved herbs from the nightstand. Her back was turned. She clearly didn’t feel even remotely threatened, and Annis wasn’t sure how to interpret that. 

Simaetha faced her once again, placing those herbs upon her desk. Setting to work with a mortar and pestle, she afforded Annis a pointed glance. “Are you going to slay me with that dagger? I pose no threat to you.” 

“You pose a threat to others.” She sounded far more confident than she felt. Perhaps it was Simaetha’s newly exposed abilities having an effect on her, but truthfully, Annis did not want to do any harm.

“Are you going to hurt me?” Simaetha stopped her idle tinkering and turned to fully face her intruder, a hand on one hip. Annis said nothing, finding herself at a loss for words. She kept her blade pointed and at the ready. “Will you play the hero? Parade my corpse about town?” 

“Enough.” Annis found the imagery excessive and distasteful. If she did have to harm Simaetha for the greater good, she would ensure it was swift.

The red-haired woman sighed deeply, a sigh absolutely reeking of regret. “I admit I have done harm. I try my best not to.” 

“How heroic.” 

“You misunderstand.” Simaetha stepped closer, but Annis stepped back. “Most people, they see me and become enrapt. I have no say in it. They approach me, court me, _desperately_. It’s pathetic. It hurts to reject them when their love seems so genuine.” 

“So you kill them?” 

Simaetha’s nose wrinkled, “ _No_. I haven’t taken a life in decades.”   
“Decades?” Annis narrowed her eyes. The woman in front of her emanated youthfulness and unspeakable beauty, yet the way she was speaking did not reflect her years. She sounded akin to a hardened veteran who had seen countless horrors.”You can’t be older than thirty.” 

The comment gave Simaetha pause. Another smile graced her soft features, yet her golden eyes now glistened with tears. Annis was stunned from the expression of emotion and lowered her weapon, though did not sheathe it. 

“I’d ask you to guess, but I assume only I’d find that amusing.” Simaetha’s smile faded. “I’ve lost track, but I’m well over two hundred.” 

It was at this point that Annis found herself at her limit. Her suspension of disbelief had long since been surpassed, and she simply could not find it within herself to believe that the gorgeous epitome of youth before her was supposedly hundreds of years old. She started to wonder if she was perhaps being strung along in an elaborate trick, a ruse to convince her not to go through with her theft. Annis did not appreciate being misled.

“Why should I believe that? For even a second?” 

Simaetha was quick with a retort, “My eyes, perhaps?” The comment gave Annis pause once again. At their mention, she easily found herself becoming lost in them - in the impossible depth they held and the attention they commanded of the onlooker. Simaetha stepped closer once more, Annis remaining in place. “Have you ever met someone with eyes of gold?” 

She had not. Annis had also never met a woman who cast such universal entrancement over anyone in view. Nor had she herself felt such a confounding, intrinsic pull at the mere sight of someone.

“I saw your face when you first spotted me. I know I affected you, if only to a degree.” Simaetha’s voice was even-toned, yet Annis couldn’t help but sneer at the implication of her words. “Oh, it’s not an insult. I’ve broken men with wills of steel simply by walking past. I would not fault you for being unable to swim against the current.” 

Annis was becoming frustrated at this point. Whether or not Simaetha _was_ telling the truth, which it seemed was the case, it was inconsequential. She’d come for the map, and she planned to leave with it. 

“I’m here for your map. Will you give it to me, or will I have to ransack this room and tie you down?” She spun her dagger for a flair of intimidation, though Simaetha remained unfazed. 

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

“You didn’t _ask_ me a question.”

  
“I did.” Simaetha returned to her herbs, grinding orange leaves into a dust. A smoke slowly swelled from the mortar, the thin plume rising to the ceiling. Annis flinched at the unprompted show of alchemy, once more agitated at Simaetha’s disinterest and now doubly unsettled. “What is it that dominates you and repels my charms?” 

“You’re speaking in riddles.” Overwhelmed with impatience, Annis surged forward and pushed the mortar to the floor. Simaetha glowered, a glimpse of true anger crossing her face for the first time. 

Before clarifying, she made a point to retrieve her mortar. The leaves’ dust had scattered. She scraped the basin of the bowl with her fingers, leaving their tips stained orange. “My magic affects everyone. Men. Women. Young. Old.” Simaetha reached forward with those stained fingers, brushing them against Annis’s dark tunic. The traveler naturally recoiled. Dust quickly saturated the fabric of her clothing, leaving a staunch mark of white. 

Annis nearly lashed out with her blade at the intrusion, but when Simaetha finally concluded her question, she paused. “The invulnerable few were intensely consumed by a different force, something stronger than even magic. What drives you?” 

“Why should I tell you that?” Annis felt her voice raising against her better judgement. She wiped furiously at the new stain on her garb, confused at how quickly it had manifested and how stubborn it proved to be. 

“I’ve confessed much.” 

“I never asked you to.”

“No answer, no map.” 

Simaetha was unwavering in the demand. The thought enraged Annis. Would she truly be forced to exchange private information just to continue her quest? Few alive knew of her motivations, and she’d intended to keep it that way. Now it seemed she was left no choice. The sudden helplessness only fueled her mounting anger, reminding her of the worst moments of her life - when she was young, defenseless and frail. 

“Revenge.” 

Simaetha seemed relatively satisfied with the response. With steady hands, she set her mortar down and opened a drawer at her desk. Its contents had clearly been trifled with, though the disturbance did not bother her. As she sifted through, she spoke once more.

“I already gave you the directions. Why must you also demand the map of me?” From the furthest depths of the drawer she retrieved a sleek glass vial, its contents a sable, viscous liquid. “Need I remind you I’m a stranger? And you’re relying solely on my goodwill?” 

“Need I spell out that I didn’t plan on asking for it?” Annis gestured toward the window’s lock, now in pieces on the sill. Simaetha had yet to notice. 

The entrancing woman laughed lightly, “My door was unlocked, though I suppose your ingenuity is impressive. Are you a thief by trade?” 

“You’re stalling.” Annis readied her blade once more. “See this bow on my back? I’m far more proficient with it. My advice to you would be to give me that map before my hand reaches my quiver.” 

Simaetha’s brows raised, “Oh goodness. No need for threats. Here,” She dipped two of her fingers into the bottle she retrieved, coating them with the contents. When she once again reached for Annis, she recoiled. “Relax, it will fix the mark.” 

“Will you stop this?! Why did you stain me in the first place?! Stay away, and get me that map. _Now_.” Following through with her original threat, she pulled a single arrow from a quiver on her back, clenching it tightly in her fist. Its head was sharpened to perfection. 

Despite the increased risk of violence, Simaetha remained unbothered. “Your destination is the land of the monarchy. Dare I ask where exactly your vengeance is directed?”

“ _Stop pestering me with your questions_. I don’t care to know you.” Annis’s patience had long since worn thin. She thrust her arrow forward, poising it dangerously close to Simaetha’s neck. The alleged succubus froze, but only for a moment. 

“I guarantee if you kill me, you won’t find the map. And if you so much as scratch me, I’ll scream at the top of my lungs. Everyone in this building will flock to this room. Are you confident fending off dozens of my rabid lovers?” She knew she had the upper hand, and now Annis did as well. Her jaw locked for a moment in anger, realizing she may have to be far more civil than she was accustomed if she expected to leave this interaction advantageously. Civility tended to be the furthest thing from her mind.

“King Tereus.” The arrow was returned to its quiver.

“Pardon?” 

“I seek the head of King Tereus.”

A silence blanketed the room once more, filled only by the ambience of the howling gusts still rattling the window panes. Simaetha said nothing, merely stared. An understanding lay in her golden eyes, as well as what Annis recognized as a wisdom acquired only through a lifetime. She believed Simaetha - all of it. A succubus sat before her, a creature of spite, anger, and deceit, yet her face showed nothing of the sort. It bore an expression of sympathy, of kindness. Annis had encountered mortal men of utterly abhorrent temperaments far more akin to beasts than Simaetha. 

“Well, I hope his knights are as spirited as they claim.” The succubus deftly reached beneath her desk, prying something open out of Annis’s view - a concealed panel of wood leading to a hollow compartment. “Clearly, you’re a force to be reckoned with.” With the suspiciously genuine compliment, Simaetha finally pulled the long-coveted object from its hiding place. 

A rolled up piece of finely preserved parchment lay delicately in her palms. The sides were yellowed with age, a faded indigo ribbon tied loosely around its middle. Annis’s breath left her in an instant, her skeptical and pessimistic mind having nearly convinced her such a thing was fiction. 

“Where did you get a map like this?” Annis’s hands couldn’t help but shake, unfurling it as gently as possible. “On the open market, this would be worth your weight in gold.”

“A travelling cartographer was taken in by my charms.” Simaetha took her opportunity while the archer was distracted and dabbed her previously coated fingers onto the white mark. Annis was far too preoccupied to care. “He wasn’t the first. Likely won’t be the last, either.” 

The map was amazingly detailed. It showed bodies of water, mountain ranges, even specific roads. Mournstead was circled in fiery orange ink, a staunch “ **_S_ **” written in calligraphy. Understandably, portions of the map were left blank - roads ending abruptly in zig-zags with various warnings beside them. Surely enough, Hallow’s Keep laid far to the west - past what seemed like endless stretches of forests, swamps, and plaguelands dotted with incredibly scarce settlements. At the bottom lay an incredibly comprehensive section of annotations. It was evident even from a brief skim that they had the potential to be life-saving. 

Annis glanced back at Simaetha, another question lingering in her mind, “Yet you stay here, in Mournstead. Why?” 

The succubus closed the secret compartment, returning to her mortar and pestle. “Only for one year. I was on the road for decades - hunting the witch who left me this fate, to no avail. If a witch does not want to be found, you will not find her.”

“So you’ve given up?”

Simaetha clearly resented the accusation. Her response was vicious. “I’m taking a damned well-earned rest.” Annis met her eyes once more. “I walked aimlessly across these lands for longer than you’ve been breathing. This is a harsh world, and I’ve grown weary.”

Annis knew the exhaustion of travel all too well, and regretted the harshness of her original tone. “I meant nothing by it. Merely curious. If it’s truly as hopeless as you claim, I would not have blamed you.” With a contented sigh, she rolled the map to its previous state. “Thank you.” 

“Where do you think you’re going with that?” Simaetha snatched Annis’s wrist as soon as she took so much as a step toward the door. 

“What do you think? I’m taking it.” 

“Really? With no compensation? Ironic - one of the few who knows my true nature, and you assume me a saint.” The succubus did not release her grip, despite Annis’s struggling against it.

“Succubus or not, I’m leaving with this map.” With one final pull, Annis was freed. “Sic your horde of thralls upon me all you wish. I’m confident I can either leave them littered with arrows, or outrun them.” 

“All I ask is ten minutes.” Simaetha’s tone was abruptly level-headed and unaffected once again.

Annis paused. “Ten minutes? For what, exactly?” 

“So I may pack my things.” Before receiving confirmation, Simaetha was already puttering about her small room - placing supplies in knitted sacks and donning a canvas jacket.

Annis had endured her fair share of surprises that night, yet this one in particular left her speechless. The traveler watched Simaetha’s meticulous preparations: the way she measured out bottles of ingredients and tightly fastened a small trunk atop a loaded rucksack. Apart from the dagger already on her hip, she did not equip herself in the way of weapons or armor, yet she slung the bag onto her shoulders and stood as if ready.

“What in the world led you to believe you’d be accompanying me?” Annis inquired, taking a moment to securely bury the priceless map within the deepest recesses of her own satchel.

“Perhaps the fact that the map is mine? Besides that, what harm could there possibly be in having a travel companion?” 

“We are unacquainted. You could betray me, kill me in my sleep, poison my food. Need I go on?” Treating the rhetorical question as her parting words, Annis finally left the room and attempted to shut the door behind her. 

Simaetha stopped it with her foot and followed every step of the way. “Have you any real reason to distrust me? I willingly gave you the map, I told you my true nature outright. I’ve concealed nothing. Admittedly, I should be more cautious of you.” 

“Yes, you should. Which is why you ought to stay here, and leave me be.” Annis left the tavern and ventured out into the night. She took the liberty of wrenching a torch from a wall sconce beside the entrance, using its light for herself as she journeyed down the hamlet’s only road.

It was hard not to listen to the approaching footsteps over her shoulder, quick and determined in their stride. “Ignore me all you like, Annis. I will not be gotten rid of so easily.” 

Annis remained silent. Gravel crunched beneath the light steps of her boots, and the embers of her torch drifted in the breeze. Simaetha felt no need to speak again - her presence was known. Though their motivations varied greatly, and even their destinations were likely dissimilar, circumstance had brought them together and may very well pry them apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading <3 please leave a comment if you've got the chance!


	2. Kingspire

A  tall, ramshackle tower had been acting as their beacon for well over an hour. The map indicated it as a landmark for the closest form of civilization. According to the annotations, it had served as a militaristic checkpoint for knights of the monarchy far from the capitol. Time wore on and the kingdom’s power grew thin. Like most structures across the ruined land, it had become little more than a remnant. Annis stubbornly hadn’t spoken a word.

“I respect your devotion to silence,” Simaetha dared to interject for the first time, having grown rather bored of staring at fields of dust and rotted stalks of forgotten grain, “But may I ask why we are heading to such an ominous waypoint?” 

The question was reasonable. Clearly, Simaetha was relatively devoted to her accompaniment. However, Annis planned to leave her behind as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Though she kept that to herself.

“It’s marked here as ‘Kingspire.’ My supplies are scarce, and according to the map, there will be quite an extensive swath of land before another safe place to restock.” They scaled a hill with a seemingly endless incline. Their thighs burned and their eyelids drooped from fatigue. It had been a long and eventful night. “Do you think you can seduce an innkeeper, and get us a room without charge? I’ve few coins at the moment.” 

Simaetha breathed out a wry laugh. The sentiment was not shared. Her face fell. “Oh. You’re not joking.” 

Annis stopped walking for a moment, looking at Simaetha for the first time since they’d left Mournstead. Although not taken by the succubus’s charms, it was hard not to waver slightly from her breathtaking appearance. 

“What’s the use of your powers if not to manipulate?”

“I’ll pay for the room. In fact, I’ll pay for two.” Simaetha’s pace quickened as a scowl darkened her features. Annis let her pass. 

“One is quite enough.” 

“I’d rather not share a bed with you.” Simaetha’s tone was venomous.

The rudeness was not lost on Annis, and it gave her pause. “I can sleep on the floor, if you truly must preserve your modesty.” 

Simaetha’s footfalls grew more deliberate, stomping with genuine upset. “I kindly request that you not refer to my plight as ‘powers,’ as if they are some ability I command at will. It is a curse I never asked for.” 

Simaetha made no secret of her hatred for her circumstances, and to some degree, Annis could empathize. Though her empathy was limited, and she most certainly would not let it inhibit her quest.

“Gold is not an issue.” Simaetha added. “I have more than enough. You will have your own room. If I recall, you ‘do not care to know me.’ Though I cannot say the same, you clearly do not view me as an equal.” Her angry stride had led her several paces ahead by that point. 

Annis struggled to keep up, “You’re being dramatic. If you insist on travelling with me, we must be civil.” 

Simaetha scoffed, “It would be wise to take your own advice.” Annis was given no time to retort. “Succubi are not prostitutes. Watch your tongue before comparing me to some cheap whore.”

The archer regretted her previous assumption, and the unintentional disservice she had done to Simaetha by making it. Despite the shame at her mistake, she was unsure what to say. Annis had never been a competent wordsmith. She would occasionally go months without speaking to a soul. Instead, the confounded woman simply nodded, as if that alone would make amends when she was not even in view of whom she offended.

The two finally crested the hill, and found themselves standing before the fated structure of planks piled up into what may have once served as a watchtower. Now no men stood at its peaks, as no man should - its structural stability was questionable. Torches precariously lined its flammable sides, mounted upon flimsy sconces. A flock of crows circled the settlement, as if drawn in by its dark walls in search of rotted corpses to peck holes into. 

Two men in matching uniforms stood on either side of the entrance. Annis instantly recognized the symbol on their faded tunics - the monarchy’s emblem. The mere sight of it wracked her body with chills of pure, seething rage. Simaetha proceeded calmly, unaffected by their affiliation. Their heads turned on their necks as they shamelessly watched her swaying hips. Though it took tremendous willpower and restraint, Annis did not lash out. Gritting her teeth to cope, she pushed herself forward, ignoring the courteous nod one of the guards gave her in greeting. 

“There.” Annis pointed toward an inn, “If you insist on your own room, I will not stop you.” 

“I like my privacy.” Simaetha spoke coldly. 

Kingspire was sparsely populated, and those roaming about were distinctive characters. They bore unique scars, customized weapons, garbs from distant lands. All of them were formidable in their own right, yet they still crumbled to useless puppets of lust as soon as Simaetha stepped into view. If there were any doubts remaining of the succubus’s capabilities, they had now been settled.

By the time the two had entered the building, everyone previously on the streets was at their heels. Simaetha made a beeline to a small bar and spoke with a woman who looked like the owner. Soon, the space of the inn was flooded to near bursting with souls from the outside, lured in effortlessly. A hum of conversation vibrated the walls, murmurs of intrigue and admiring comments buzzing among the new crowd. It was practically identical to the communal enthrallment found in the side room of the Huntsman’s Den. Annis once again found herself in the strange position of being surrounded by mindless thralls, and not being one of them. 

But this crowd was getting ornery. One man of particularly large stature took the liberty of surging forward and pushing Annis to the side. She staggered, only barely regaining her footing in time to witness her assailant make a show of groping Simaetha from behind. The succubus flinched, expression indignant, but had no further reaction as the goon guffawed. Annis’s response, however, was not nearly as tame. 

The archer surged forward, blood boiling, and snagged him by the back of his neck. She smashed his bloated head against the countertop and pressed it brutally into the wood. A tankard full of ale was knocked loudly to the floor. The man cried out and resisted, but his stature did not translate to strength. 

“It’s alright.” Simaetha interfered, oddly calm. 

“Oi-- no fightin’! Let ‘im go or take it outside.” The inn’s owner slapped Annis’s arm, more concerned for the varnishing of her counter than the oaf’s wellbeing. The crowd was jeering, adding needless commotion to an already convoluted situation. 

Annis reluctantly complied. The filthy man cradled his now trembling hands together in an odd way, as if nursing a fresh wound. When Annis got a better look, she saw his fingertips starting to blacken. 

“Come on.” Simaetha clasped Annis’s wrist, slinking down a narrow hallway. Those who had followed them inside were dissuaded by Annis’s outburst and stayed put. Their murmurs of fascination could still be heard, increasing in volume and frequency now that Simaetha had left their sight. 

“These are our rooms,” The succubus stopped just as the hall did, gesturing to two adjacent doors. A key was placed into Annis’s outstretched palm, though the archer felt she deserved an explanation.

“Excuse me? Would you mind telling me why you prevented me from snapping that brute’s neck?” 

“Apologies, I was unaware you became my bodyguard.” Simaetha unlocked her chosen room, stepping inside and kicking off her boots into a corner. Annis let herself in just before the door could be shut in her face. 

“What, do men grope you unprovoked quite often?” 

With a tired sigh, the succubus laid flat on her back atop her purchased bed. Exhaustion weighted all of her movements. Annis was unsure whether it was from their extensive walk or from fending off aggressive admirers so frequently. “Men with hollow heads tend to be the most uninhibited. If it’s any condolence, he’ll lose both his hands within the hour.”

Annis sneered, “Men cannot simply touch you whenever they please.” 

“They aren’t in their right mind.” 

“Are you making excuses for them?” 

“No. Trust me, I was as enraged as you the first dozen or so times.” Simaetha turned on her side, away from her new companion. “Get some rest.” 

“Will they not break down your door in the night?” Annis asked, the concern relatively genuine. The succubus offered no answer, and the archer retreated respectfully. After that invasive ordeal, Simaetha deserved a reprieve. 

The door was shut behind her and the lock clicked audibly. Retiring to her own room, the archer remained deeply conflicted about her situation, more so than she’d ever thought possible. For over a decade she’d been unwavering, steadfast in her goals and rarely staying in one place unless wounded to the point of incapacitation. She’d never received help, whether from companions or hired hands. Yet here she was, with an unexpected escort and a map that would put a target on their backs if seen by anyone in their right mind. 

At the thought, she locked her door and went so far as to prop a chair beneath its handle. The parchment was shoved beneath her thin mattress she then sat atop, placing her dagger under her pillow. 

The more time she spent with Simaetha, the less things seemed to make sense. Arguably, she was unsure if this was due to the powers of the succubus. She wasn’t reduced to a brainless follower like the others, but she couldn’t find an explanation for how furious she’d become when that oaf laid hands on Simaetha. She chalked it up to basic human empathy, though in truth her hands still slightly trembled from residual fury, even after hours had passed. 

Eventually, she dismissed her bustling thoughts and laid down her head for a dreamless sleep.

☙ ♚ ❧

The sun rose, yet its rays barely pierced the dark clouds that seemed permanently settled atop the spire. Humidity choked the air and the cawing of crows nearly drowned out an ambient hum of chatter that filled the streets. Annis was awoken by a weak knock on her door - a harmless sound she interpreted as hostile during her slumber. Shooting upright, her hand instinctively snatched her dagger and sliced toward the noise, only to be greeted by a passive, gravelly voice.

“‘Scuse me! Fellas are askin’ fer ya. Wake up, c’mon out! I don’t appreciate loiterers.” The innkeeper rudely insisted, clearly seeking Simaetha. 

“Alright! In a moment!” Annis explained, rubbing the drowsiness from her eyes. As the rush of adrenaline slowly dissipated from her body, she sheathed her dagger and rose from bed. 

The map remained undisturbed, if not slightly flattened. Annis returned it to the deepest recess of her satchel, lest it be pickpocketed. Clearly, the masses who’d seen Simaetha the night before had come to call upon her. If anything, the archer was grateful they were polite enough not to be violent in their pursuit. That wasn’t to say their infatuation wouldn’t intensify to dangerous levels if she strutted about town again. 

They’d come to Kingspire for supplies, nothing more. Annis realized it wouldn’t be smart to draw excessive attention - it may result in more undesirables such as the man from the night before, or other particularly rabid, troublemaking thralls. Of course, there wasn’t much they could do about the scene they’d already made, but anything further could be prevented. 

Annis approached Simaetha’s room, trying the knob without thinking. The door didn’t budge, though someone spoke on the other side. 

“Just a moment!” A lock clicked, and the knob turned once more. Simaetha stood, her appearance so breathtaking that Annis flinched. The two were barely acquainted, and the archer was far from being desensitized to the sight of something so inarguably beautiful. 

Although begrudgingly, Annis would be a fool and a liar to claim she didn’t at least experience the smallest level of attraction to the succubus. It was to an incredibly minor extent - almost so muted it was barely there - but Annis knew quite well that she would be able to stare at Simaetha’s features for hours, as if admiring a work of art. 

It was due to this awareness that she planned to rid herself of the succubus’s company as soon as possible. Even the smallest chance of this woman becoming an obstruction to her vengeful quest was unacceptable. 

“I need gold.” Annis stated plainly, finding small talk unnecessary. Small talk bred fondness, and fondness bred a sense of companionship she did not care to feel for such a hindrance to her goals.

Simaetha laughed to herself, slipping her bag onto her shoulders as if ready for travel. “My, would you care to offer me a drink first?” She was chipper - light in her movements and spry in her step. The night before seemed to have been completely forgotten, while it could not have been more prominent in the archer’s mind. 

“Put your things down. We are not leaving yet. I’m going to buy us as many supplies as we can carry first.” 

“You have your things. Why can’t I bring mine?” Simaetha proceeded to the door, and Annis stopped her. Gripping the knob, she shut it, leaving only a crack open between them.

“You’re not coming.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You’ve already got a swarm of lackeys clogging the inn. I’m sure they’re foaming at the mouth to see you, and they won’t get their wish.” Annis pulled the door, feeling nothing else had to be said. 

Simaetha grabbed it from the other side, not finished with the conversation in the slightest. “I know how to handle the flock, I’ve been dealing with this for longer than you can imagine. Let me come with you.” 

“No. It will only create more needless fuss. It’s best to be discreet - something you are simply incapable of.” 

“You say that as if it’s my choice!” The succubus sneered, once again offended by the implications. The two continued their struggle, pushing and pulling the door at either side. 

“Whether or not it’s conscious, you cannot ignore it. You’re a danger, luring all sorts of men after us. What will we do if they follow us from town and chase us through the woods?” 

“Have you forgotten those in the tavern? That they did anything I wished of them?” A surge of strength from Simaetha finally won their struggle, and she pried the knob from the archer’s grip. “I know you want to be rid of me. You’ve made it painfully obvious. Why on earth would I let you out on your own - to abandon me?” 

Annis paused at the comment. Though she wasn’t known for her subtlety, she’d assumed she hadn’t been so blatant. While yes, she did intend to leave Simaetha, the thought of doing it just then genuinely hadn’t crossed her mind. Stunned enough by Simaetha’s perceptiveness, she absolutely was not equipped to come up with a lie.

“Give me the map. I know you won’t leave without it, which means you won’t leave without me.” There wasn’t the slightest air of negotiation. Even the stubborn archer was aware she’d been thwarted. 

With a defeated sigh, she pulled the map from her satchel. Simaetha reached to take it, but Annis withheld for one moment longer. “While we’re making demands:  _ stay in here _ .” The succubus snatched her parchment with a deathly glare. She clearly was not accustomed to taking orders. “Read one of your books. Write a journal entry, I don’t know. I’m sure you’re quite efficient at entertaining yourself.” 

Simaetha scoffed, throwing a wink her way, “Perhaps I’ll write you a love letter. Would that get me any closer to winning your favor?” 

The archer’s cheeks warmed. “Fuck off.” 

Quite amused, the succubus pulled a pouch from her belt. It was tossed at the archer haphazardly, “There’s your gold. Get me an apple, if you find one. You may be surprised, but they’re my favorite fruit. All kinds: I like variety.” Simaetha listed her desires as she trailed back into her room, removing her bag and sprawling its contents across the bed. “I also wouldn’t mind a pair of gloves. The nights are getting bitter.” 

Annis offered no reply, merely content to know Simaetha would stay put. Slamming the door, she headed out of the inn. Throngs of men and women blocked the exit, bearing makeshift bouquets or boxes of jewelry. Their hearts were on their sleeves. For a fleeting moment, the archer felt sympathy. The lost souls truly did seem madly in love, with a woman who they’d just barely laid eyes on. They murmured amongst one another, batting their eyelashes and fixing their hair. 

Someone grabbed Annis’s arm as she passed. A woman she’d seen the day before selling fabrics was now clearly under Simaetha’s spell, her cheeks flushed with emotion. 

“Did you see her? The red-haired woman? You-- you’re the one she was with! What is her name, did she speak of me?” She was utterly desperate, starstruck. 

Annis thought of the most plausible excuse that may get some of the swarm thinned out. “She took her leave in the night.” 

The woman’s face fell, devastated at the news. At the very least, it seemed she believed Annis. However it didn’t break the spell - far from it. Instead her energy seemed directed elsewhere, tears even beginning to cling to her eyelashes.

Her voice quivered, “Do you happen to know which way she went? Please, I beg of you, I’ve never felt a love like this before! I-- I rose with the sun this morning, and plucked these from the outskirts.” Her trembling hands clutched a bundle of flowers, so fresh that dirt still clung to the stems. 

“That’s... quite lovely, miss.” Annis tried to escape the conversation by moving to the door, but was followed. The fabric-seller was persistent, undeterred from her newfound devotion to the succubus. She seemed prepared to travel to the ends of the earth if it meant she would so much as catch a glimpse of Simaetha.

“Where are you going? To buy her gifts? Everyone here seems enamored, but they cannot love her as I do.” 

“Perhaps you could discuss it with them?” The archer offered, once more attempting an exit. 

“Well, where are you going? Do you know her? Might I come with you?” She followed like a lost puppy, even going so far as to leave the inn. 

“I’m doing some shopping. Supplies, the like. I do not know where she went, I only escorted her here.” Annis maintained a conviction in her voice that was finally enough to discourage the woman. She stopped, staying near the inn’s entrance with that same look of loss.

“Ah, I see. Well, bless you for keeping her safe during her travels!” 

“Yes, yes...” Annis quickened her step, distancing herself from the maddened horde. It was quite off-putting to be faced with one of Simaetha’s drones head on. Annis could only imagine having to fend away individuals that passionately enthralled constantly. 

She felt more sympathy for the succubus then than she ever had.

Unfortunately, most of the merchants were far too preoccupied courting Simaetha to sell their wares. Annis walked past more than a dozen makeshift stalls, all stocked, yet with no salesmen in sight. Normally she would have stolen whatever she needed and more, but luck was not on her side. There were monarchy knights patrolling the square, and since she was one of the only loiterers, there were far too many eyes peering in her direction. 

Containing her rage when so many roamed about bearing monarchy emblems required astronomical restraint. Instinct alone almost overwhelmed her every time one stepped too close - a primal urge to gouge out their eyes or wrench their still-beating hearts out of their chests boiling up in her stomach. They tramped about with a palpable air of superiority, but Annis knew these were the dregs of the royal family’s military. They’d been sent on forgotten quests and hadn’t received word from their commanders, who hid like cowards in stone castles far to the west. They would likely spend the rest of their lives in Kingspire, brutalizing the townspeople for a fleeting sense of power and control. Annis couldn’t get out of this settlement fast enough.

Without much choice, the archer wandered to another part of the settlement that Simaetha had not tainted. With fewer merchants and even worse options, finding supplies was a struggle. After nearly an hour, her satchel was full once more. She’d even found an apple. Granted, one of its sides was bruised horribly, but all the others had been rotted.

When passing a darkened alley, Annis spotted someone familiar. It was the oaf from the night before. He was circled by his peers, men of similar persuasion. Annis stepped closer, curious, and her suspicion was proved. The man nursed fresh wounds. His hands were gone, wrists ending in bloodied bandages. The archer couldn’t help but stare at the gruesome sight to the point that one of his comrades interfered. 

“What in the bloody hell are you lookin’ at, whore?!” He approached threateningly, defending his friend’s honor. As soon as he was in range, Annis delivered a swift kick between his legs. He collapsed to his knees, leaving only the crippled oaf and a scraggly man with no teeth. They did not intervene.

The crowd at the inn had shifted. They now looked outward from the windows and tried to push past each other through the thin door. At first, Annis was confused, until she spotted Simaetha idly standing by the entrance. 

“I told you to stay in your room!!” Annis stormed ahead, wondering if she may have to get violent with the crowd if things got out of hand. “You’re causing a commotion. What did I tell you about being discreet?! Do you listen to a  _ word _ I say?” She threw the coin pouch back at the succubus hard, hoping it may hurt a bit. She caught it effortlessly. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” Simaetha gestured to the crowd, “Did I not say I could control them?” In a commandeering yet somehow still charming tone, her voice raised. As always, all eyes were on her. “Would you lot please give my friend and I some space?! We’re trying to have a private conversation. Scurry on home, I’ll be in the tavern tonight.” 

The hollow promise was enough to ward away the majority of the obedient thralls. They spilled out of the inn and dispersed in every direction, sneaking bashful glances at the succubus while they reluctantly acquiesced to her order.. There were a select few that lingered, though they didn’t completely disregard the command. Instead they backed away to quite a respectable distance, albeit continuing to shamelessly stare. 

Simaetha truly did have more control than Annis once thought. That didn’t prevent the fact that she drew endless unwanted attention they’d be much better off without - and also that she’d ignored Annis’s only request.

“See?” The succubus gestured to the open space around the two on the street triumphantly, “No harm done.” 

“Don’t speak too soon. You should have stayed put.” Annis headed quickly toward the town’s exit - opposite from the strange semi-circle of stubborn admirers that had formed. “Don’t engage them further, and come quickly. We’ve already spent too much time in this armpit of the monarchy.” 

Simaetha laughed at the wording, “What majestic imagery. Perhaps we should edit the map. ‘Kingspire’ is an awfully regal title for such a hovel.” With no further resistance on her part, she followed the disgruntled archer. Though as one final act of disobedience, she did wave to her crowd once more. 

Annis allowed the succubus to lag behind her on the path toward the exit, not quite having the energy to nag her for not keeping pace. Her head was clouded with grievance from the inconveniences, flooded with thoughts and schemes on how to conveniently “lose track” of her companion during travel. She had yet to prove her worth besides simply supplying a map. In fact, she had now only proven to impede her progress. Though the archer was callous and perhaps even cold, she was not heartless. She recognized that Simaetha’s condition was indeed a plight that she deserved to have rectified, but she was not prone to selfless goodwill - especially not at her own detriment. 

Luck was not on their side that day. While passing beneath the spire’s rickety tower, their path was blocked by a burly, broad-shoulder man. He bore a hefty greatsword that was notably unsheathed, the point of its blade dug into the dirt - wordlessly emphasizing his unflinching stance. He was not alone, either: equally formidable men flanked him on both sides. The monarchy knights were absolutely disinterested in the men’s domineering presence. They seemed rather accustomed to it. 

“You two made quite an entrance yesterday.” The man with the sword spoke up in a rumbling deep voice. His sword shifted in his hand, digging further into the hardened ground. His threatening gaze quite pointedly focused upon Simaetha. 

Annis stepped slightly in front of the succubus, shielding her from view as best as she could. It was a relatively futile effort. “Right. Well, we were just on our way, if you’ll excuse us.” The archer reached behind her, balling up a fistful of Simaetha’s dress to ensure she’d remain as close as possible. 

“Witches aren’t welcome in these parts.” The man stepped forward, dragging his blade across the dirt. His companions reached for their own weapons, but did not draw them, “Are you one?” He was addressing only one of the duo, and although Annis rightfully assumed he meant Simaetha, for the sake of their own safety she feigned misunderstanding. 

“You’re a fool for asking. If I was, you’d be dead already.” Her forced, dark humor did not at all ease the tension. The men did not appreciate it.

Their leader and his sword seemed to take it as a challenge. “I’ve killed my fair share of them.” Reaching beneath his chestplate, he pulled free a coarse string clumsily laced with human jawbones. Annis wouldn’t give him the pleasure of showing her disgust, though she felt Simaetha shudder. “They aren’t as invincible as they’d like to claim.” 

The succubus interjected suddenly, even breaking loose from Annis’s grip and stepping forward. The men flinched from the intrusion - all of their bluster seemingly forgotten once the potential witch may have been offended. “Whoever those belong to, they weren’t witches. They would have sensed your malintent before you could get within fifty meters.” 

A dense, thick silence followed. The alleged witch-killer returned his trophy necklace to its hiding spot as he tried and failed to contain his absolute fury. Simaetha had clearly disrespected him by refuting the authenticity of his war trophies, and it was obvious he was a proud man. He was not going to take such an insult lightly. Clenching his jaw, he gripped his blade’s hilt with both hands. Annis was more than ready to flee as fast as her feet would carry her, when suddenly one of the man’s companions broke the silence.

“You have...  _ remarkable  _ eyes.”

He was enthralled. Annis tensed, realizing that regardless of whether Simaetha could control her abilities, these bloodthirsty witch hunters would interpret the enchantment as malicious. The archer considered herself second to none when it came to marksmanship, but close-range was another matter entirely. Being attacked by three paranoid, heavily armed men with a penchant for misogyny entailed far more danger than she preferred to face. 

“Well, we really must be going.” Not leaving even a moment for discussion, Annis clasped the succubus’s hand as tightly as she could and ran.

One man went so far as to reach out, attempting to grab onto Annis’s tunic and stop her, but he was too slow. Embarrassed by his fumble, he stayed put, calling out in lividity, “And you’d better not come back!! If we catch you in Kingspire again,  _ we’ll have your heads!! _ ” 

Simaetha chuckled in amusement, “As if we’d ever return.” 

Annis said nothing, still feeling deeply endangered until they’d gotten out of range of arrows. Those men were clearly holding some sort of influence, and if they so desired they could rally the town against them at even the mention of accused witches. Everything Simaetha interacted with turned into either a danger, or a hindrance, and Annis’s temper was wearing thin. 

Once the two had passed through a thicket of bushes and into a small clearing, Annis felt safe enough to speak. And the archer had plenty to say. “How can you be  _ so  _ cavalier about what just happened? I tried to shield you, why did you aggravate them?” 

Simaetha continued to laugh, giving Annis’s hand a gentle squeeze, “Thank you for the rescue. Did you know how soft your skin is?” 

The archer recoiled from the unprompted compliment, “What?! Stop that. Is needless flirting a part of your condition?” 

The question gave the succubus genuine pause. “Hmm. Truthfully? I’m not quite sure.” She carelessly balanced atop a fallen log, stretching her arms out to the breeze, “Nobody has ever asked me that. Perhaps I’m simply infatuated with you in particular?” 

Annis sneered at the thought, “Don’t be vile.”

With a giggle and twirl, the red-haired women hopped to the grass, “And to answer your earlier question, you would be shocked at the number of men who have accused me of witchcraft because they were confused by their own adoration. Not once have they done me any real harm.” 

“I find that very hard to believe.” The archer extended her hand, wordlessly requesting the map. Simaetha complied. “We continue west.” Annis proceeded on her path once consulting a compass, a familiar determination consuming her once the danger had passed. 

Simaetha had drawn a single line through the title of Kingspire. It now read simply, “The Monarchy’s Armpit” in ironically beautiful penmanship. Though it was an incredibly fleeting moment, Annis felt a new fondness for the succubus at her side. It faded as quickly as it had arrived.

“I am not lying, you know. In case you haven’t noticed, all are drawn to me - whether they be troglodyte self-aggrandizing witch hunters or profound, refined philosophists. My condition is an equalizer.” Despite all of her alleged suffering, Simaetha walked with the slightest skip in her step. She seemed happy, carefree, even optimistic. 

Annis gave another quick glance at the woman - at her tight-fitting dress perfectly hugging her figure, with black sewn lace concealing pale, defined collarbones. In a moment of weakness, she gawked for too long, before the embers of her vengeance ignited and kept the charms at bay. “Your attire does not leave much to the imagination.” 

Simaetha scoffed, plucking a flower as they passed by it, “Don’t jest. I could walk about in a burlap sack, and would enthrall just as many passersby.”

“Hmmph.” Annis remained thoroughly unamused, keeping her gaze fixed upon the map as best as she could. 

“Besides,” The succubus slinked smoothly behind a tree, stepping out only as Annis passed in order to block her way. The archer skidded to a stop on her heels to avoid collision, finding herself nose-to-nose with the other woman, “There wouldn’t be as much for you to gawk at.” 

“What?!” Annis balked at the flirtatious comment, her chest tightening from anxiety and unfamiliar, unprompted intimacy. She took several steps back, nearly tripping over a stray tree root to put herself at a comfortable distance. Though she hated to admit it, she could not deny the blush she felt on her cheeks.

The succubus merely laughed once more, tucking her flower behind one ear and grinning triumphantly. Annis was rooted to the spot.

“You-- you make it quite hard  _ not  _ to look!” She protested, though it was futile - Simaetha had surely proved her point, and the two both knew it. 

“It’s alright, Annis.” The archer merely watched as her companion reached down and plucked another flower, ridding it of thorns with her sharp nails. “I’m used to it.” The words had a strange air about them, bearing the sad wistfulness that hadn’t emerged since their first encounter in Mournstead. For a few moments, she stopped walking as well - staring down at the flower’s petals. One of the thorns had pricked her thumb, blood trailing slowly down her wrist. She simply watched it, blank-faced. 

“Don’t flatter yourself.” The archer spoke dismissively, wishing to be done with the discussion and much preferring silence.

“Oh, I think you’re doing that all on your own.” Simaetha sighed happily, trying to tuck her freshly plucked flower behind Annis’s ear. The advance was predictably slapped away.

According to their convenient map, they had an extensive swath of forest to navigate before their surroundings would change. The cartographer had little to say on the area, and Annis was unsure whether to interpret that as a good or bad omen. The natural ambience of scurrying creatures in the trees above their heads and birds chirping in the air was typical, becoming background noise to the keen archer. Instead she honed her senses - preparing herself to detect oddities that could signal danger: a rogue mother bear, or a pack of wolves could come darting out with barely any warning. On one unfortunate occasion she’d even stepped into a wasp’s nest. 

After roughly ten minutes of silence, the air shifted. New, uncommon noises could be picked up by a sharp ear. They stood out as clearly unnatural amidst a sea of organically produced sound. Annis froze, holding Simaetha in place. Soft wind rustled leaves and parted blades of grass. It was faint, but the archer smelt ale. The noises continued. The two women met eyes. Finally, Annis was able to discern it. They were misplaced, oafish footsteps - failed attempts at being discreet by men who’d rarely attempted stealth.

“Did you hear that?” The succubus spoke first. The question nearly seemed rhetorical. 

The archer slowly slid her heavy rucksack from her shoulders, knowing all too well that even the slightest added weight could be the difference between life and death. The satchel with the map, she kept close to her chest. In truth, she would rather her own bloodied corpse mar the map beyond recognition than let some undeserving brigand abscond with it.

“Can you defend yourself?” Annis asked slowly, the footsteps growing closer with each passing moment. Simaetha didn’t have time to respond.

The next sound was unmistakable. The drawing of a bowstring. 

Annis moved. In an instant, her own bow was in hand, an arrow drawn and aimed toward the noise’s source. Figures emerged from hiding places with faces vaguely familiar. It was the men from Kingspire, no doubt riled up by Simaetha’s provocation. There was no time for scolding. Realizing they’d been discovered, their attackers advanced in a surprisingly organized formation. 

Annis released her first arrow, which found its target in the only archer’s neck. The arrowhead pierced flesh audibly. Blood spurted and stained a patch of moss as the corpse fell to the dirt. Two more men still rushed forward, teeth bared in paranoia-fueled rage, though one lagged behind. He fretted over the archer’s corpse, perhaps attempting to revive him. Simaetha armed herself but stood in a defenseless, nearly pathetic manner - looking more apt to flee than land a proper blow. The archer disregarded her.

Another arrow was notched and fired as the attackers approached, though the shot was not as deadly as the first. The projectile bounced off a sturdy shoulder plate, ricocheting into the grass. The gang’s brutish leader focused on the succubus, wielding his greatsword with evident experience. A broad, sweeping arch of the blade barely missed Simaetha, who barely leapt away. Annis caught a glimpse of her slashing at a chink in the man’s armor - a startlingly tactical move for someone who seemed so shaken and unprepared. 

Before the third and final assailant could get within range, Annis retreated, wanting more distance between them for an advantage. Unfortunately he was smarter than she’d anticipated and he knew better than to give an archer any ground. Each of her steps was met with his own. Accepting it was useless, the archer replaced her bow with a dagger. The blade was dwarfed by the man’s pike. He thrust forward with the spear, the sharpened tip tearing a hole in the archer’s tunic and skimming her rib. Blood dotted the polished metal, earning a sadistic grin from the misled witch hunter. Annis would not let him get another strike in.

When he thrust once more, the archer jumped - a risky maneuver barely proving fruitful. Her boots narrowly landed atop his pike, pinning it to the ground. He struggled, trying to wrench his weapon free of her weight, but she took advantage of his panic. Thrusting forward swiftly, her dagger met his jaw - tearing into the sinew and bone as the blade’s tip poked through the side of his agape mouth. He gagged, writhing to the ground with his weapon and target completely forgotten. 

The man who had lingered back to tend to the dying archer remained at a distance, unsure of his approach. After seeing Annis make such quick work of two of his comrades, he was clearly at a loss. For a few moments he seemed to consider joining his leader in the attack on Simaetha, but the archer made it clear from her expression that would not be a smart idea. 

Once he saw Annis reaching to equip her bow, he made his decision. And although it was not an outright attack, it very well may have crippled the travelling duo more than any outcome of this ambush. 

He sprinted forward, scooping Annis’s discarded rucksack into his hands, and fled. The archer was so stunned by the theft that her reaction was slowed - taking far too long to draw her bowstring. The pilferer moved in a serpentine fashion - dipping behind tree trunks and ducking his head low. She couldn’t get a clear shot.

The gang’s leader simultaneously realized that Annis was the primary threat of the pair. The distracted archer narrowly caught sight of his approach. He may very well have gone undetected had a premature war cry not torn from his throat. Annis did her best to move, but rage at his fallen comrades tinged his animalistic movements with unpredictability. He slashed at her wildly with wide, irregular sweeps. She ducked one attack and sidestepped another, only to finally be caught by a third - the long blade slicing her side with such force she was sent to the dirt. 

Just as the enraged man was about to skewer Annis into the ground with the full length of his greatsword, a heightened voice pierced the air.

“ _ Wait! _ ” 

The exclamation was so sudden, so desperate, it was enough to stop even his blind fury. Something shifted behind his eyes, a dissociation and detachment dulling the frenzy that had been there. Simaetha quickly approached - a deliberate sway to her sauntering hips that was nearly enough to make Annis forget the searing pain in her fresh wounds. The man’s iron grip on his weapon faltered, lowering the blade to a more neutral position as the succubus grew closer. 

By the time she had reached him, the sword was all but sheathed. His glare faded. His stance shifted to one of utter passivity. Annis lay, utterly forgotten on the grass. She clutched her laceration to breathe through the pain, but did not tear her eyes from the unfolding scene. Simaetha had the man utterly entranced - practically slack-jawed. Though when she finally attempted to gently disarm him, the fog was lifted. 

He recoiled, blinking frantically to awareness. When he once more pulled back his blade, this time to no doubt impale Simaetha for attempting to pacify him with what he assumed was hostile magic, she finally defended herself. Her dagger was brought forward clumsily, landing straight in the hunter’s cheek. Blood spilled, but not enough to kill him. 

Annis intervened. Still incapacitated, she thrust her leg forward and knocked the hunter off balance. He fell hard onto his back, sword clattering out of his clutches. The two women were both confident that being disarmed would not stop his assault. Simaetha hesitated for only a moment. As soon as he tried to recuperate, she straddled him - digging her blade beneath his loosened breast-plate to puncture precisely through his heart.

The air settled. Nothing moved. The birds had stopped chirping, even wind no longer rustled the leaves. The two slowly caught their breath as the forest returned to its peaceful, undisturbed naturality. The adrenaline faded gradually into relief and, in Annis’s case, anger.

Scrambling to her feet a bit faster than she should have, a jolt of pain shot through her wounded side. “Those oafs only followed us because of you!!” The archer reached beneath her tunic to put pressure against her cut, “All the food I bought from Kingspire is gone. And we can’t return, lest we be followed again. That thief will likely have sent the entire town after us.” With labored breaths, she retrieved her arrows from corpses, “If they didn’t think you a witch before, they surely do now.” 

Annis’s frustration appalled the succubus, “I did nothing!” She stood, recoiling from the corpse as if it’d been set aflame. Her hands and bare arms were splattered with blood. A frantic attempt to wipe it away only spread it sloppily against her pale skin. 

The archer scoffed at the deflection of blame, “I told you to stay in your room! You lured them, flashed your golden eyes.” Wanting to put as much distance between them and Kingspire, she kept walking west. “This is the absolute last thing we needed...” 

Simaetha stormed ahead, but did not pursue her bitter companion. Instead she forged her own path through a dense thicket, chasing the sound of a babbling creek. Annis didn’t let her get far.

“Where are you going? That isn’t west.”

Simaetha ignored the redirection, “You cannot simply lock me up like a rabid dog, and you certainly are not in charge of me!” 

The archer found the succubus’s anger completely invalid, and her own ineffably justified. Insistent on having the last word, she followed her. “You may be immortal, but I am not. Do keep that in mind.”

The succubus did not address the relatively hostile reminder, instead hyper-focused on her dirtied limbs. In moments she’d reached the creek’s shore, kneeling upon the mud and soiling her dress in the process. Audibly panting, she submerged her arms to the elbows, splashing water against her skin in a borderline frenzy. 

Annis’s brow furrowed. “Why are you so distraught? Are you wounded?” She couldn’t recall the succubus crying out during the battle.

The red-haired woman said nothing. She continued to scrub. Diluted blood was taken away by the weak current, its bright scarlet fading to muted brown. Simaetha sniffled weakly, digging beneath her nails. Even her dagger had been discarded, tossed into the water. 

“I hate spilling blood.” Her voice was weak and nearly broke. Annis had never heard it sound that way before.

The archer bent to retrieve the forgotten weapon, “It was self-defense.”

Killing those men hadn’t so much as made Annis flinch, the morality of it not once crossing her mind. She’d been ambushed on the road before - some attackers were malicious, others desperate - yet not once had she considered leniency. What was most concerning to her was her own survival - preserving her life was and always would be her utmost priority. Guilt was a familiar emotion to the weathered archer, but not for happenstance brutes making attempts on her life.

Simaetha sighed deeply, pulling her dampened arms from the water. She did her best to shake herself dry, visibly rattled despite all of the blood having been washed away. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“He left you no choice.” Frankly, Annis didn’t understand the issue.

The succubus did not appreciate the curtness. Standing once more, she did her best to wipe the dirt from her dress. “You needn’t be so cold.” She snatched her dagger out of Annis’s grasp and returned it to the sheath on her hip. A final, violent chill shot through the woman’s body - the life she took still evidently weighing heavily upon her.

Annis couldn’t help but scoff, finding the extent of her reaction to be borderline foolish, “Apologies I don’t feel sympathy for brigands.” 

“He had a life and worth just as you or I.” 

“Perhaps he should have penetrated you instead, to have a moment of bliss before his untimely death.” 

A sharp, thick tension rose into the air. Simaetha glared so viciously it nearly marred her features. For the first time, Annis saw a true, real anger in the woman’s eyes - an unbridled and unmatched fury she had never encountered before. The archer’s regret was instantaneous, but she didn’t want to worsen things with a poorly worded, hasty apology. Her only visible show of contrition was how quickly her face fell, though Simaetha did not see it, nor would she have cared if she had.

With a long, deep breath to compose herself and ebb her mounting rage, the succubus walked past her and kept west. “That was cruel.” 

Annis’s pride would barely let her admit it, but she actually agreed. 

☙ ♚ ❧

Not a single word was spoken for hours, the sun setting in communal silence. Darkness cloaked the land, and predatory glowing eyes peppered shadowed brush in the distance. The two were infringed upon by neither beast nor man, only combatting their own fatigue. The seemingly endless forest was discouraging to Annis, though she kept her pessimism to herself. 

Eventually, there was a break in the constant maze of tall tree trunks in the form of a meagre meadow. The broken down remnants of a cabin stood at its middle, overgrown with weeds and littered with signs of conflict. Neither of the women spoke, but their eyes met for a brief moment of communication. Simaetha took initiative, lifting kindling into her arms as they approached. The night was bitter with cold wind. 

She lit a fire, sheltering beneath an awning of a partially collapsed rooftop. Annis joined, sitting atop a collapsed beam. The fire warmed her, but her wound still stung. She lifted her tunic and inspected the damage properly. The cut was wider than it was deep. She’d suffered far worse injuries with far less treatment. With steady hands, she sliced a piece of fabric from her sleeve and shielded the wound from the elements. When she looked up, she noticed Simaetha was staring. 

“Is it severe?” The succubus spoke, her voice cutting through the thickness that had settled in the air since Annis’s misguided insult. 

The archer found herself at a loss for words. For long minutes, she did not answer, feigning focus on her wound, when in truth she was preoccupied with the exact manner in which she should apologize. Yes, she wanted to be rid of Simaetha. Yes, the woman was more of a hindrance than an aid in her journey. But she had not personally slighted her in any way, and her attack on her uncontrollable condition was unwarranted. 

Overthinking the situation only made the archer flustered. It was needless and unproductive. Swallowing down her pride for the first time in admittedly quite a long while, she spoke with a calculated gentility. 

“I spoke too rashly.” The admission was blunt, perhaps even clumsy. Simaetha raised a confused eyebrow, thus Annis clarified, “Earlier, by the water.” The longer the archer thought about it, the sooner she realized that she likely had never apologized in her life - at least not sincerely. 

“Think nothing of it.” The succubus shook her head, Her golden gaze was fixated on the fire. 

Annis wouldn’t let her wrongdoing go so easily dismissed. “No. You were right, it was cruel, and uncalled for.” Even though she’d admitted her error, she felt an explanation was necessary. “I was in pain, and... quite frankly, frightened at the loss of our supplies.” That moment was perhaps the most willingly vulnerable she had ever been. The realization was sobering. 

Simaetha’s appreciation was unspoken, but visible on her face. The vaguest trace of a smile crept to her lips before disappearing once more. She warmed her pale, delicate hands by the fire and took another deep breath. 

“Are you sure we cannot return to Kingspire?” 

The archer cleared her throat, silently grateful to have been given an escape from her series of appeasements, “Positive. The stragglers would have gone back, and spread word of their ambush to preserve their dignity - villainizing us. It would be a death sentence.” 

The succubus nodded. It was expected that she understood the reality of their circumstances. Annis would not have been surprised if Simaetha had been chased out of multiple towns from accusations of witchcraft. The reality and hopelessness of their situation added even more pressure to their shoulders. 

Simaetha slowly stood upright, moving as if to leave into the woods. 

“Where are you going?”

“To fetch some herbs. I’ll just be a moment.” 

Annis grabbed loosely onto the woman’s wrist. “Be careful. It’s night.”

Simaetha laughed, a bitter, hollow laugh, and gently pried the archer’s hand from her. “I’m immortal, or have you forgotten?”

With that, she left. Annis watched her go. 

Now that she was alone with her thoughts for the first time in days, the archer was left conflicted. Her motivations hadn’t shifted an inch. She would find Tereus and she would get her vengeance, with or without the succubus. Despite her determination, Annis couldn’t deny that this woman was causing her incredibly unanticipated feelings. She’d felt guilt, concern, anger, and - perhaps the most difficult to address - protectiveness. It was a very minor, perhaps even muffled emotion, but it had undoubtedly been there.

When the witch hunters stopped them at Kingspire’s entrance and Annis realized their target, she was frightened, and for once it wasn’t a fear for herself. It had been well over a decade since the archer even had anyone to feel a protectiveness over. It was practically nostalgic. Admittedly, it was a foolish worry. The succubus was centuries old and had immeasurable experience incomparable to what Annis could claim, but strangely that did not nullify the fear in the moment. She didn’t want to see the woman strung up on display or burned at the stake surrounded by self-congratulatory, fraudulent witch hunters. Simaetha could not control the commotion she caused, and deep down Annis truly did empathize with the plight. 

Yet all of this - her confusingly genuine emotions for this near total stranger - could easily be explained by the exact condition she was pitying. She’d never encountered a succubus. She’d heard stories, myths, rumors, and dismissed them all. But now one was with her, at her side for hours at a time. She’d seen the effects of her powers from a mere glance. The effects of such prolonged exposure could be detrimental. Perhaps the vague connection she undeniably felt forming was all a result of a witch’s curse. That, quite simply, made more sense to her than the alternative.

Eventually, Simaetha returned - an assortment of roots and leaves cupped in her hands. Annis watched as the woman retrieved her old mortar and pestle from her rucksack, grinding the ingredients into a whitish paste. Mixture in hand, she approached the archer and knelt besides her. 

“May I?” She reached toward Annis’s tunic. The archer nodded, indifferent. Personally, she had never quite liked alchemy - it toed the line a bit too closely to witchcraft for her preference - but her lingering guilt for her earlier outburst prevented any sort of comment on the matter. 

Simaetha delicately removed the makeshift fabric bandage, applying the salve to her laceration. The archer was surprised to feel a relieving coolness, having grown accustomed to coping with the slight, throbbing pain. She sighed with a newly found contentment as the succubus carefully reapplied the piece of fabric across the wound.

“I harbor no ill will toward you.” Simaetha spoke softly, her words nearly inaudible above the crackling fire. Perhaps she found it difficult to accept Annis’s apology so directly. Perhaps she had her own pride that she struggled to set aside. Regardless, it was done with.

The two returned to their opposite sides of the fire and their relatively comfortable silence. Annis watched the plume of smoke rise into the air, hoping it wouldn’t serve as a beacon to any stray Kingspire hunters. The archer’s mind wandered, theorizing new potential opportunities to leave her unasked for companion behind. It was no longer out of spite, and maybe never truly had been - she also knew her quest entailed endless dangers. Arguably it would be safer for Simaetha not to follow.

The archer leaned forward slightly, a question in mind, “May I ask, do you still feel pain?” The exact conditions of immortality escaped her.

The succubus did not meet her eyes, instead focusing on another alchemical combination with ingredients from her supplies. At the very least, those hadn’t been stolen, though they were meagre. “Yes. I simply cannot die.” 

The information was intriguing, and gave Annis a deeper respect for the woman’s lingering humanity. She could feel pain, she could be hurt, she could properly empathize with anything that the archer herself suffered. 

Feeling the vaguely familiar sense of protectiveness encroaching upon her once more, she couldn’t help but ask, “Did they harm you at all?” 

“No.” Simaetha graced her with a glance, “Thank you for asking.” 

“I’m curious, what’s the worst wound you’ve sustained?” Hundreds of years of living would have undoubtedly led to some interesting stories to tell, and they had nothing better to pass the time.

Yet the succubus seemed disinterested in the exchange of war tales. She emptied the contents of her mortar into the fireplace and the flames shifted to a deep red - somehow no longer emitting smoke. Annis backed away slightly, admittedly startled by the display. 

“The wounds are peripheral.” She laid down onto her side, using her bag as a pillow. Her eyes were distant. “When you’ve lived as long as I have, it’s the loneliness that aches the most.” 

The jaded archer couldn’t help but laugh to herself.

“What?” 

She explained herself, not wanting to seem too disrespectful, “Sorry, I just never thought I’d hear anyone complain of eternal life.” 

The look on the woman’s face was one of nostalgia for something so long past, it was painful to even recall. Her sharpened nails traced shapes in the dirt. When a stray ember landed atop her skin, she let it burn itself out without so much as flinching. “Why live forever if you’re alone?” 

Annis stared intently at her travelling companion. Though quite an existential and introspective question, she gave it no thought. It didn’t pertain to her. She was mortal, and frankly, she’d been alone for quite some time and was doing well enough. However, being alone never was her choice. She would be a fool to claim that. 

“If you lose your powers... will you be mortal again?” 

Simaetha turned away, staring into darkness. 

“Gods, I hope so.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading <3 please leave a comment if you have time! they make me v happy


	3. Canidia Forest

W hen morning came, the two continued west. Eventually the forest opened up into abandoned farmlands, with forgotten tools and the torn down foundations of houses. Whether it was war or time that had ravaged the lands, there was no one left alive who knew. The two hadn’t spoken, simply gathering their things and moving on. Nobody had attacked them in the night, but Annis remained on edge. 

They walked in silence through those fields for most of the day. Simaetha watched the sun’s path through the dense clouds as the sky darkened. Any structures they passed were occupied only by wind that passed through cracks in walls and windows. The succubus was curious about their next stop but didn’t ask, finding a strange familiarity and comfort in the hollow silence. For those lingering hours there was nothing - neither man nor beast to interrupt the sound of their repeated footfalls. 

Yet all of that was interrupted when a figure appeared on the horizon. It was far in the distance, but unmistakable. Annis didn’t want another fight, if it could be prevented, but odds were that it couldn’t. Luck never did seem to be on her side. She pulled her bow from her back and readied herself, crouching low. If they could see it, it could see them. Simaetha was not as keen, and although she hadn’t noticed the figure, she ducked without question. 

“What is it?” She whispered, confused. 

Annis said nothing, moving slow and close to the ground. The figure was moving north, across the horizon, at a steady pace. The archer adjusted her trajectory to intersect that of the stranger, at least wanting to know who in the world had any business wandering such an area of emptiness. Remnants of corn stalks had barely enough height to conceal them as they moved.

The dimming sun illuminated the figure more clearly at a closer distance. It was a man, lightly armed and armored with a sheathed sword and a leather helmet. His tunic was a deep purple. It was a color that made Annis’s blood feel like fire. 

She drew her bow in a fluid, practically automatic motion and trained the arrowhead directly on his form. Simaetha froze, drawing her dagger for good measure, regardless of her confusion. Though trust may have been a strong word, a rapport was forming between the two. 

The arrow flew and met its mark. Its shaft pierced the man’s ankle straight through, sending him to the ground in a crumpled heap. Annis shot upright and rushed toward him, reaching her target just before he could get his hands on his sword. She kicked it out of reach, stomping hard on his afflicted ankle. The succubus caught up with her and froze at the scene before her. The unarmed man screamed in agony. Annis’s boot applied enough pressure to splinter the arrow’s shaft, spreading shards of wood throughout his wound. 

“ _ Ah!! _ Stop!!” He begged desperately, sitting up and doing his best to resist. It was of no use. 

His pleas only made the archer angrier. She drew her own short blade and stuck it straight through his forearm - sinking it deep into the dirt and pinning him there. His shriek pierced the air thickly and made Simaetha’s skin crawl. She did not intervene. 

“What do you want?! T-Take my gold, my sword, anything, please!” 

“Where are you going?” Annis spoke firmly, wanting to sound calm, but the feral rage in her voice crept forward. 

“What?”

Annis stomped hard against his ankle, earning another anguished cry. She bent, ripping the satchel so hard from the man’s chest that the leather strap broke from its buckle. “ _ What is your destination? _ ” 

“Caradon!! I-I’m delivering to Caradon!” He sputtered and tears streamed down his cheeks. Whether they were from fear, sadness, or pain, was hard to say. 

The archer handed the map to Simaetha, who remained a conflicted bystander. She complied, understanding the intent. 

Even so, she hesitated to relay the information. “It’s south of here.”

Annis twisted the dagger in the man’s arm. In a panicked attempt to relieve his own suffering, he tried to grip the hilt and remove it, only to recoil when he so much as nudged it. 

“ _ You’re going north _ . Caradon is south. Lie again and I’ll snap your neck.” For good measure, she drew her bow. The man stopped his writhing, staring up at his attacker with wide eyes.

The archer handed Simaetha the satchel. She sifted through it, removing a small parcel of rare, platinum coins, and a formally sealed letter. Upon opening it, she read it aloud.

“Your Royal Majesty, I received your condolence letter for the losses suffered on the southern front, and I am honored by your kind words. We beat back the monsters as best we can, but they are relentless. Again, I beg for reinforcements or supplies. We have drained all nearby farms of crops, and those who tended them have left for fear of the beasts. Your words are sincere but intangible. This is our fifth letter of request. Our numbers are dwindling. Signed, Viscount Caldwell.” 

Annis kicked the messenger hard in his side, the tip of her boot bending slightly from the sheer force of the blow. He yelped, attempting to explain himself, “It was not a lie!! I-I came from there, now I’m returning!” 

Another kick was delivered in the same spot. Simaetha could have sworn she heard a bone crack. She grimaced, tucking the map away. 

“This is your third chance. That letter is addressed to Tereus. He is to the west, in Hallow’s Keep. Has he moved?!” The possibility frustrated her even further, “ _ Has he moved?!”  _ Whatever patience Annis may have had was long since spent. She was running on sheer good will, which she never did have a surplus of to begin with.

“No! N-No, he remains there, he--” Despite his fear and sense of self-preservation, the messenger made an odd decision. “Who are you? Why do you speak of the king by his name?” 

Annis kicked him once more, stomping on his wounded ankle as well. He gritted his teeth through the pain, his fingers curling into tight fists. “You are in  _ no  _ position to ask  _ me _ questions!!” The succubus was caught off guard. She had never seen this woman so angry, not even when she’d held a blade to her neck. Annis spit onto the man’s tunic - particularly the bold, golden emblem printed starkly upon the purple. “I knew your false king before he earned his title. And he is  _ no _ king of mine.” 

The messenger laughed bitterly, something so out of place it rattled both women. “You’re a fucking traitor.” He met her eyes, a strange sort of clarity haunting his expression. “Whatever he did to you, it was right.”

Those words were the final straw for a woman already on the brink of blind fury. With a guttural, ferocious cry, she straddled the wounded messenger and ripped her blade from his arm, instead sinking it into his chest up to the hilt. It would have been enough to kill him, but her movements were flailing and wild - the complete opposite of everything Simaetha had come to associate with her companion. The succubus merely watched, paralyzed from shock at the utter brutality. The dagger was inserted and withdrawn again and again. Blood spurted grotesquely across the dirt road. The man sputtered, his face stained sanguine. All remnants of his ignorant grin had long since faded.

The air was still. Dark clouds blocked the nearly set sun, casting long, stark shadows across the dying fields. The archer remained atop her victim, bloodied and panting. The short dagger remained deep inside his chest. Her dark eyes remained transfixed on it - upon the holes littering his sternum that still leaked blood onto her hands. 

It was a gruesome sight. Not even Annis would have denied that. Simaetha stared, practically nauseated from the horrific violence, but did not step closer. In her years, she’d learned that rage like that was rarely unfounded. Although she didn’t understand the motivations, empathy didn’t always require understanding. Whoever that messenger had been, he was unfeeling and cruel to a woman with his life in her hands. It was foolish. The succubus placed the coins and the letter into her own bag and did not bother speaking a word. 

Eventually, Annis’s usual stoic, flat affect returned. She stood smoothly, unfazed by the red now staining her dark tunic. The patch over her eye had been jostled, and she adjusted it with haste. By then, the sky had darkened into night and a crescent moon scarcely lit their surroundings. She sheathed her dagger and slung her bow across her chest. 

“Apologies for the delay.” With that, she kept west. A four-way crossroads was not far from them, and she decided to stay on the road. “At least we know for sure we’re headed the right direction.” She checked the map once more. A forest was the next notable landmark, and the very tops of trees could be seen in the distance. The cartographer had no notes of it besides its name - not a single annotation. It concerned her. The forest was directly in their path, objectively unavoidable, yet a mystery. 

Simaetha matched her pace. The messenger’s corpse was left forgotten. The succubus was perceptive and had long since noticed Annis was favoring her left side as she walked - the unharmed one from the scuffle the night before. Her apothecary treatment was a temporary remedy, and the fabric Annis used as a bandage was unsanitary. Simaetha was worried of infection, of the stubborn archer dismissing the extent of her pain and collapsing. There were occasional dilapidated homes on either side of the road they passed, forgotten like everything else. Yet a chimney in the distance emit smoke. 

“That cabin.” The succubus pointed to something Annis had long since noticed, “We should spend the night there. Ask for shelter.” 

“You’re putting a lot of faith into an absolute stranger.” Annis grimaced ever so slightly, her hand instinctively reaching to her wound before she could contain the reaction. 

“You’re still hurt. I can treat you with something that could close up the wound but it needs to lie still on the laceration.” Simaetha tried to reach forward and offer support, but she was pushed away.

They were coming closer to the building. A warm glow was shown in the windows. It was objectively inviting, but Annis didn’t let herself trust it. Letting her guard down proved harmful far more often than not, even in what may have seemed the most innocuous of situations. In truth, she found it odd that Simaetha did not harbor the same distrust considering her extensive life. Likely - no,  _ undoubtedly _ \- she too had been taken advantage of in an unsuspecting moment. Yet she’d still proven to be open and trusting. As if she had faith in the goodness of people. Annis respected the woman, but she was clearly foolish. 

As they grew closer, Annis drew her bow and notched an arrow. The succubus tried to intervene, to slap the weapon away or at least have the archer lower it, but refused to cooperate. 

“If we knock on the door with weapons drawn, we may very well be attacked.” The words of advice fell on deaf ears. 

“We aren’t knocking on the door.” 

“Then what do you propose?”

“Going in through a window. Hopefully they’re sleeping.” True to her word, the archer avoided the cabin’s front, instead slinking around its side.

“Wait wait wait, stop!” Simaetha frantically grabbed her hand just as Annis aimed her bow through the open window, pulling her weapon away, “Can we at least see who’s inside first? Perhaps it’s a family! A  _ harmless  _ family. “

The archer shot her a pointed look, “Do you truly think I’d loose my arrow at a child?”

The question was met with an unreadable stare. Realizing what her companion truly thought of her actually gave Annis pause. With a long breath, all of her weapons were sheathed. The succubus gave her the slightest nod of approval, and an unspoken compromise was made to proceed with a mutual, neutral caution. 

There wasn’t much to see through the window. It was a meager interior with little decor to speak of. A thin bed was tucked into a corner, along with various supply stocked shelves. In the center of the cabin was a round, dark wood table circled by three chairs. The only person to speak of was a decrepit old man, hunched over a plate of bread. 

“It’s just him.” Simaetha whispered. 

The two women watched for a few more moments as the man moved. His motions were slow and calculated, made with trembling hands. Long, wrinkled fingers reached for his food, only to miss at his first attempt.

“I think he’s blind.” To test her assumption, Annis leaned further through the window, waving her hand in a wide, blatant gesture. The man did not acknowledge it. Upon getting closer, she noticed the whiteness of his eyes. They had no pupils to speak of. 

“Then he’s no threat to us.” Simaetha grabbed the belt of the archer’s tunic, forcefully pulling her back outside. “He’s just a poor, blind old man. If he can’t see he likely won’t be affected by me, either. We should ask to spend the night, and I can treat your wound.” 

Annis shook her head slightly, “I wish you’d stop fretting about that.” 

“I wish you’d  _ start  _ fretting.” The succubus didn’t waver. Making the decision herself, she proceeded to the front door. Annis followed begrudgingly, still uncomfortable, but knowing all too well of Simaetha’s stubbornness. 

The succubus brought her fist down gently upon the door and took a respectable step back. Audible shuffling was heard from the other side. It took conscious effort not to draw her dagger, but the archer resisted the urge. 

Eventually, the old man appeared before them. His trembling hands were clasped together, eyebrows upturned in earnest inquiry. He had kind features and a wool sweater composed more of patches than original fabric. 

“Aye? Is someone there?” A warm voice graced their ears.

The two women exchanged a glance before Simaetha decided to answer, “Yes, hello. My friend and I are travelers, and she was wounded by a bandit. We don’t want to impose, but might we take shelter here so I may treat her?” Annis was unsure if persuasion was simply a tool in the arsenals of all succubi, but Simaetha was almost concerningly masterful. Her tone was sweeter than honey, almost sickeningly so, but it was assuredly effective.

He nodded without hesitation. “Why of course, dear, of course. Please, do come in.” His frail hand opened the door further, allowing the women entry. They watched as he puttered about, opening a faded armoire and sifting through its contents. 

“Thank you so much.” The succubus entered first, incredibly gracious in all of her movements. She gently pulled out a chair from the table and sat, making sure the movement was audible so as not to startle the blind man in any way. “I’m called Simaetha. My friend is Annis.” 

“Gallio. A pleasure to meet you. I hope I can help. Here,” His calculated hands found what he’d been searching for in a spare bedroll. When he pulled it from its spot, an off balance box of books was toppled to the floor by his feet. “Oh, confound it all...” 

Annis was now the one to be courteous. She rushed forward before Gallio had a chance to so much as bend, deftly putting the books back into their box and returning them to the shelf.

“I appreciate that... erm, here, this is for your friend.” He laid out the bedroll in an empty corner. “Do you need anything for the treatment? I know little of medicine, but I do have--”

“--No sir, I’ve all the herbs I need.” Simaetha got to her feet and helped Gallio, gently guiding him to his previous chair. “Annis, lay down for me would you?” The archer cooperated. Even she was not foolish enough to believe that this man would pose any real danger.

The succubus knelt at her companion’s side, delicately lifting the hem of her tunic to reveal the laceration once more. The earlier treatment was brief - little more than a pain reliever. It served no true healing purpose. The gash now bled at a trickling, though steady rate. Upon exposing it, Simaetha found herself even more frustrated at Annis downplaying the injury. 

She sighed as she gathered her ingredients, “You can be quite the pig-headed fool, I hope you know that.” 

Gallio laughed airily, “You two seem quite the pair.” 

Simaetha smiled weakly, “You could say that...” As she ground up various plants in her mortar, the succubus looked at the kindly man. Relief was visible on her face and Annis understood why. To be around someone who would undoubtedly be absolutely unfazed by her charms was a privilege she’d barely known. “Sir... I mean no disrespect, but what happened to your eyes?” 

The archer shoved her for the rude question, “Simaetha!” 

“No no, it’s quite alright. I like to think of it as a cautionary tale.” He shifted where he sat, turning his stale piece of bread over on his plate. “I’m sure you girls have heard stories of witches and magic. Perhaps even of curses.” 

Simaetha understandably felt the need to interject, “I’ve been cursed.” The confession practically burst forth from her chest, as if it had been trapped within her lungs. Tears lingered in her eyes, surely consumed by emotion at how rare such an opportunity was - to freely speak of her condition without fear of retaliation. “By a witch, hundreds of years ago. I’m a succubus, and I’m travelling the land to find someone to cure my affliction and make me mortal again.” Her voice trembled. 

“Ah...” He nods sincerely, an incredibly kind smile stretching his weathered cheeks. “I sensed something about you, though I couldn’t place it. Those wronged by magic bear an empathy unattainable by others.” 

A silence spread, though it was oddly comfortable. Simaetha composed herself by focusing on her task. Once she finalized her concoction she applied it carefully to Annis’s wound - the archer hissing through her teeth upon contact. This time it offered no relief, instead causing a harsh sting. The succubus held her patient gently to the floor, preventing squirming and worse harm. 

“Lie still.” She continued the treatment despite Annis’s writhing, “Breathe through it. Just breathe.” The sting shifted slowly to a dull burn that was easier to cope with. 

“Apothecary?” Gallio spoke up, “A strange practice for one wronged by magic.” His tone was hard to interpret. 

Simaetha shot him a glance, remaining focused despite the comment. “I was tired of feeling helpless.” 

“Oh, I do not fault you. It’s quite honorable. Now, you’ve taken agency over time you did not ask for. I sense a goodness in you I have not felt in some time.” He slowly got to his feet, moving to one of his many shelves. Careful hands felt each and every item sitting upon it, calloused thumbs his only way of identifying them. 

“Sir,” Annis tried to sit up for a moment, only to wince in pain once more. Simaetha held her down. “Our journey brings us west. We have a map. but the cartographer has nothing annotated for the forest in our way. It’s merely labelled as Canidia--” 

Gallio’s hand faltered. A glass bottle dropped to the wood floor. The women jumped at the loud crash, wondering what prompted that response. 

“Canidia.” He repeated the name as if it were a vulgar curse. Slippered feet crushed shattered glass as he shuffled across the floor, finding a seat again. “I’ve lived in this cabin my entire life. When I was young enough to still indulge naivety, I doubted the stories and looked toward those woods. Her woods.” With a crooked finger, he pointed to the west forebodingly. “She stood at its outskirts. Like an utter fool, I didn’t believe it was her.” His whitened eyes transfixed upon the two, and for a moment it seemed as if he was staring straight at them, “Witches do not take kindly to staring.”

Annis could only shake her head. “Gods. I’m sorry.”

Gallio sighed deeply and stood. With precise movements, he retrieved a broom from the corner and swept up the mess he had made in his shock. It was clear he’d grown accustomed to his lack of sight and lived with it quite well, yet this adaptation did not lessen the pity they felt for his plight.

“You were right. Those wronged by magic truly have the purest hearts.” Simaetha spoke softly, the depth of her understanding surely not lost on the man. The two were kindred souls. In spite of her initial doubt, Annis was glad they’d entered this cabin. 

She decided to speak up once more. Clearly Gallio knew more than they did of this witch, and whatever forest she claimed dominion over. Approaching with no information was practically a death sentence. 

“Do you know anything else of the forest? We’ll need to pass straight through it.” 

He nodded, standing to retrieve a bandage from the shelf he previously browsed. “She favors wolves. Though she was too brutal with them when they became disobedient, and she ran out. Now, any passersby are transformed. They become part of her pack, fiercely loyal and just as deadly.” 

Simaetha took the bandages from his hand and applied them to Annis’s wound, “These passersby... they’re cursed? Like us?” 

“In a way. Though they’ve lost their humanity. Nothing remains.” 

The archer unintentionally caught Simaetha’s hand, an instinctive motion when a stabbing pain shot through her wound. The succubus did her best to gently hold her down, “Shh. Lie  _ still _ . It needs to remain undisturbed.” For good measure she applied more of the salve she’d created. Her golden eyes flitted toward their host, clearly affected by his words. “That’s... so sad.” 

Gallio nodded. The two empathized, but were aware when magic had gone too deep. It was both a tragic reality, and a frightening possibility.

Annis gritted through her pain. As time wore on, she was slowly starting to feel relief. Although welcome, it was also frustratingly gradual. “I can handle a couple of wolves. Thank you, Gallio. This is actually good news.” 

“No no, dear.” He was quick to correct her, “I can tell you’ve never encountered a witch. They can do incredible things -  _ impossible _ things. I once saw her stop the rain in the middle of the sky, and return it straight to the clouds.” All the while he gesticulated, desperate for her to listen. 

“You need not worry, Gallio.” Simaetha reassured him, “I know the necessary cautions to take.” 

“I  _ beg  _ you to be careful.” He returned to his armoire, “I notice you’re low on supplies. I have a surplus, please take as many as you need. It’s not often that I find others facing the plight of a scorned witch.” 

“We appreciate it. Thank you, but please - go to sleep. It’s very late.” Simaetha stood from her bedside position to instead help the kind man to his bed. He complied, his age clearly wearing on him. Once he was beneath his heavy quilt, he drifted off - soft snoring filling the cabin.

Annis watched her succubus companion as she perused the building. For safety’s sake, she extinguished the fire - instead opening all the windows to better allow moonlight to filter in. Simaetha then returned to Annis’s side, setting her rucksack down as a pillow and laying on the floor. Her eyes closed, and she seemed content to not exchange any more words, but the archer had a question that had lingered for some time. 

“Why did you stain me with that peculiar dust the night we met?”

Simaetha sighed and ran her hand down her face. “It was a test.”

The answer only spawned more confusion. “To stain me?” 

“Yes. The orange leaves of the Yangsvild bush discern intent.” 

“And what exactly was my intent?”

The woman’s golden eyes opened once more, her head turning to look at the archer’s profile. “Pure.” 

Annis couldn’t help but scoff at the notion, “I'd argue that my intent is far from pure. The things I would do to Tereus are perhaps more impure than you would care to imagine.” 

Simaetha remained adamant, “But your motivations - your soul - is pure.” Evidently, the archer still did not understand. “The reason that drives you to vile acts is just. Whatever he did to earn your vendetta, morality dictates the fate you plan for him is commensurate.” 

For some time, Annis said nothing. The succubus’s words hung in the air around them, implications not lost on either of the two. Secretly, she hoped that Annis may reveal exactly what Tereus had done - partially for selfish curiosity and partially to better reconcile her earlier torture of that messenger. Regardless of her desire, she did not pry further for a confession. Instead, she remained politely silent - leaving the archer to her clearly consuming thoughts. 

The last words spoken were hers, “Damned right it is.”

☙ ♚ ❧

Gallio readily supplied the two with everything he could spare from his stores as soon as dawn broke. He nearly replenished what had been stolen the day before. Well wishes were showered upon them as well as endless warnings. The old man treated Simaetha in particular almost as a daughter, fretting over how tightly her pack was secured and ensuring that she hadn’t forgotten any of her apothecary tools.

Though perpetually stubborn Annis wouldn’t admit it, her wound had healed considerably overnight. Not only had the pain more or less subsided altogether, but all bleeding had stopped. When standing and walking she was no longer bothered, and she could put full weight onto both feet. Before they departed, Simaetha made sure to replace the bandages for good measure.

“I know I’ve said this before, but I beg you to heed my warnings,” Gallio stuck to their heels as they left the cabin, clinging gently to one of Simaetha’s hands, “Canidia is a force to be reckoned with. I wish you the best of luck on your quest, and I will pray to the Gods on your behalf.”

The succubus made a point to hug the man, the bond they’d formed through shared, incredibly uncommon experiences proving incredibly resolute. 

“We’re always careful, Gallio, though you likely saved our lives with your help already.” As she let him go and joined Annis on the road, she offered one final reassurance, “Trust me - I know not to underestimate a witch.” 

He smiled his kind, warm smile, and contentedly stared after them. Annis hovered for a moment, looking deeply into his white eyes. Though at first they seemed empty, it was as if now she saw an entire lifetime behind them - one of pain, loneliness, and regret. The glint was familiar. She’d seen the same depth in Simaetha’s eyes by the fireside in the dead of night.

The forest loomed on the horizon, an ominous outline stark against a grey sky. Thunder rolled and shook the ground at their feet. Dark clouds had gathered, strangely seeming to congregate just above the tops of the tall trees. Annis wondered if that was Canidia’s doing, or nature’s way of warding away unknowing travelers. Regardless, she felt her skin begin to crawl.

“Have you ever encountered a witch, beyond the one that cursed you?” The archer asked, drawing her bow as the trees grew nearer. They were unlike any she had seen before - with towering, thick trunks and branches that uniformly connected as if somehow artificially manufactured. 

“No. Or, perhaps I did. Truthfully, you won’t know for certain if a woman is a witch unless they tell you outright or curse you.” The succubus was perceptive and easily noticed the fear Annis failed to conceal. “The forest is huge. If we’re lucky, we won’t encounter her at all.” 

The pessimistic archer scoffed, “Well, we have yet to be lucky.” 

“I can’t quite argue with that.” 

“What do you know of witches? Could she have some kind of advanced senses, and know we’re here as soon as we cross this threshold?” They now approached the treeline and Annis couldn’t help but slow her pace.

“Unfortunately, you don’t receive a handbook on the occult when you’re cursed. I know about as much of magic’s limitations as any other.” She drew her dagger as well. When the archer stopped before entering the woods, Simaetha followed suit - caught off guard by the hesitation. Normally, Annis was borderline frantic to continue on their path. 

“I feel... ill prepared.” The archer confessed, gently reaching forward to trace her hand against a tree’s bark. The wood was an odd pigment, as if its natural brown hues had been sucked out of it somehow.

Simaetha looked as deeply into the forest as their current vantage point would allow and saw no signs of life. All shrubbery was barren and grey. No small creatures scampered across the ground, no birds chirped, no insects trilled. The air felt unnatural, yet also indescribable. It reeked of magic. 

“Listen, if we’re careful and we stay close together, we’ll be alright. We should try to head straight through, that’s the quickest route. The less time we’re in here, the better.” The hand that gripped her dagger was shaking, though the succubus wasn’t ashamed to admit she was afraid. Annis, on the other hand, was an entirely different matter.

“I can take care of myself.” In an act of performative boldness, the archer dared to take the first step forward. “Gallio mentioned wolves. If we can climb up to those branches, we could leap between them and keep off the ground. That way if we’re spotted, they at least can’t reach us.” Before she’d even finished explaining her plan, she’d already mounted the nearest tree trunk and started to scale it with ease.

Simaetha watched her lithe companion’s athletic feat and was assuredly impressed, but also aware of her own capabilities. “While I’ve no qualms with that idea, admittedly I’m incapable of such agility.” 

Annis stopped mid-motion, her legs still wrapped around the trunk. “How uncomfortable would you be if I kept a bird’s eye view on you from above, then?” 

“Fairly.” 

“Well, forgive me for not wanting to hold your hand. Have you again forgotten only one of us can die?” Annis continued her climb.

The comment’s bluntness was unappreciated. “Have you forgotten I can still feel pain? I’m just as frightened as you to be torn apart by wolves!” The succubus shouted as Annis ascended further. 

“Keep your damned voice down, then!” The archer reached the first formidable branch and straddled it. She could see decently far from the new vantage point, but there was still nothing of note to spot. “I don’t see any wolves. Perhaps Gallio was wrong.” 

“Perhaps your eyes aren’t as keen as you think.” Simaetha whispered harshly, holding her dagger with both hands. 

“That’s not how you wield a blade that size. Gods, are you truly so daft?” Notching an arrow, the archer used her good eye to scan the area more diligently. Even still, there was nothing. 

With a hard swallow, she shifted her grip, “No, I’m frightened.” 

The candor was admirable, but Annis knew fear could prove incredibly detrimental if they were confronted. “Get it together.” 

“Have a heart, would you?” Simaetha readily defended herself, “The last time I encountered a witch, it ended rather poorly for me!” She watched her companion as she deftly balanced her way through the branches. They delved deeper into the forest - the succubus making sure to always keep just beneath her companion.

The strangest thing about this place to Annis was the thickness of the air. It was as if it was vibrating with a mind of its own. Never in her life had the archer felt an aspect of nature so potently sentient. It was deeply unsettling. How could a place feel so alive, yet utterly still at the same time? 

The two remained silent and careful. Each footfall was expertly placed. Annis’s landings were soft as she leapt between branches. The succubus despised how stranded and defenseless she felt as she stared up at her dextrous escort. In any other circumstance, she would have trusted Annis’s trained eye to keep the two of them safe. Yet she knew all too well that magic controlled the space around them - not reason. Even the most honed combat skills could prove completely useless when faced with the inexplicable.

Another roll of thunder suddenly rumbled the land. The wind grew more forceful, bending the trees on their thin trunks. Rustling leaves deafened the normally keen archer, blowing about her ears and obscuring her vision. Loose dirt dusted up from the ground and straight into Simaetha’s eyes. She blinked it away, only to be deafened by an even louder thunder strike. By the time the violent gusts subsided, both women were left disoriented. 

“Annis?!” Upon looking up, Simaetha didn’t see the archer anywhere. Not trusting her own vision in a place so consumed by magic, a panic consumed her. She found herself clutching her dagger with both hands once more. “Are you still there? Where did you go?!” 

The archer didn’t understand it. Simaetha’s voice was so far off it nearly echoed. To reach such great distance in such little time was simply impossible, yet only moments had gone by and she was nowhere in sight.

“I’m this way!” She moved toward Simaetha’s shout, remaining atop the branches as best she could. Though there was no more wind, the forest continued to rustle. Opposite from before, it now teemed with movement. There were footsteps, whispers, and mumbles.

_ “Annis!!” _

The succubus shrieked from somewhere behind the archer. Annis felt as if her mind was failing. Nothing made sense. The noises worsened, mounting in volume by unknown means. Her usual equilibrium was lost, and for perhaps the first time in her life, she didn’t trust her own perception. Balance eluded her. When she looked down toward the forest floor it seemed to sink impossibly deeper, distinct shapes becoming undefined and blurred. Instinct was taking over - she needed to get down. 

Despite the relentless shudders that wracked her body, she moved back toward the tree’s trunk and descended. Once the leaves were gone, she felt more focused. Whilst still confusing, the ground was solid beneath her feet. 

“Simaetha? Where are you?” The archer called out, listening as best as she could through her disruptive surroundings. 

“Watch out! I-I saw wolves!” She sounded close. 

Annis notched an arrow and slowed her pace. Whatever upperhand they may have had initially was gone. She felt vulnerable, exposed, and confused. Now the noises suddenly sounded like growls. Paws against grass fell and rose in doubles. The archer was terrified, absolutely, but adrenaline guided her movements. She’d heard the tremor to Simaetha’s voice. She was in no state to defend herself from a pack of beasts. 

With newfound haste, she broke into a sprint. Bow forgotten and slung across her chest, she swapped it for her short blade. Growls morphed to outright snarling, accompanied by innumerable, layered howls in the distance. There must have been dozens. Maybe even hundreds. Just as the archer was getting close, a shrill yelp pierced her ears.

Finally, Annis spotted her. She stood above a human corpse that was naked and splattered with blood, her expression contorted into one of utter shock. The archer didn’t understand. Where had that man come from? What had yelped? How had Simaetha even gotten so far in the first place? 

She had but a fleeting moment to ponder those questions. Practically in unison with Annis, a horrid creature burst from a nearby thicket. It was a foul hybrid of man and wolf, primarily consumed by its animalistic nature but with hauntingly vague remnants of humanity. It sported unnatural musculature in its forelegs and five claws on each disturbingly hand-like paw. A distorted jaw lay agape, revealing enormous teeth and a lolling tongue. It panted like a beast, but it moved like a man.

Annis was paralyzed - whether by surprise or fear, she did not know. She merely watched as the werewolf swiped at Simaetha rabidly, grunting in predatory bloodthirst. The rattled succubus barely dodged the attack and almost lost her footing. Annis’s sense returned at the sudden movements. Though she leapt into action instantly, it was too late to do any good. 

Claws met flesh and sank in deep. They wrenched free as quickly as they’d entered, blood spewing from the gash. Simaetha was knocked to the side from the sheer force of the blow, sent tumbling unforgivingly down a nearby slope. Harrowing cries of pure agony made Annis’s skin crawl. 

The werewolf was relentless in its hunt. It turned to pursue its wounded prey, red eyes flashing with violent desire. Annis didn’t let it take much more than a step. She swiftly latched onto its unsuspecting back and sank her blade straight into its spine. 

The creature howled, trying desperately to buck itself free. In all of its flailing, it stumbled from a change in terrain and fell down the earlier hill, taking Annis with it. She repeated the motion of her sword, stabbing the monster in a fury. The first few blows were met with pained yelps, but the next dozen left only silence. As its body grew still, it changed before her eyes - skin shrivelling to a natural shape and impossibly shedding its coat of wiry fur into thin air. It was a human. 

The archer recoiled at the transformation. Gallio’s stories truly were more than cautionary tales after all. 

Simaetha could only writhe. Fallen leaves and loose dirt tainted her fresh wound, bound to her skin with her own viscous blood. Her hands naturally reached to apply pressure, only to cry out once more from the contact. Annis grimaced at the shriek. Now that her sudden lividity had subsided, she became aware of just how quickly whatever lurked in their hostile surroundings was closing in.

There was no time to fuss over the injury or even to properly assess it. No matter how horrid the pain, at the very least Simaetha wasn’t dying. Annis silently reminded herself of that fact, frustrated with how rattled she was at her companion’s distress. They needed to run, and the succubus was clearly incapable of even remote haste.

Leaving no room for discussion, Annis sheathed her bloodied blade and hoisted Simaetha onto her back. The wounded woman yelped from the sudden movement, delirious with pain. Her thin arms hooked around the archer’s neck and held on with white knuckles. Annis could feel how violently she shook. Simaetha’s blood was already seeping through the archer’s tunic.

The forest itself was working against them. Any sense of direction had long since been lost. Of course Annis wanted to go west, but that could have been anywhere. There was no point in attempting to reorient herself - her priority was now getting out of that cursed place alive.

“S-She’s nearby.” Simaetha spoke weakly, barely audible.

“What? How can you tell?!” The fear that had been slowly building within Annis only gripped at her chest more tightly. She’d lost all sense of control of their situation and was utterly unfamiliar with the newfound sense of helplessness.

Although Simaetha had more of a reason, the archer was petrified of witches. Upon discovering the werewolves were real, she remembered all the other warnings Gallio had given: of Canidia manipulating the weather, stealing senses, summoning flames, lightning, or smoke from thin air. They were in no state to deal with that in conjunction with the beasts. After a periphery glance so as not to sprint headlong into another wolf, Annis ran as fast as she could with Simaetha’s added weight.

“Can’t you feel it...?” The succubus did her best to explain herself, but didn’t have the strength to speak any further. 

Whatever she was describing, Annis didn’t have the luxury to take notice. She focused entirely on not stumbling as she wove about the trees in hopes of evading the pursuit. She could hear the werewolves’ rabid panting. They were faster than her, and she knew that, but all she could do was keep running. Annis had never boasted particular strength. Though Simaetha was rather light, the archer was much slower while supporting her. Despite that, not for a second did she so much as consider leaving her. Not in those woods.

The air continued to reverberate oddly with energy. It was malevolent, insidiously creeping around them and flooding Annis with absolute terror. She dared to look over her shoulder and nearly froze. There were dozens of wolves, surging through the forest like a river around rocks. They moved across the landscape with effortless fluidity. It went beyond simple hunting - it was malicious. There was hatred in their eyes. At the very least, they were further than Annis thought.

Her foot caught onto a root. She stumbled forward and nearly fell altogether. Simaetha was jostled roughly and she cried out once more, but offered no complaints. 

“ _ Who invades my sanctum?” _

A voice rumbled the land like thunder. The ground at the archer’s feet shook violently as the trees on either side of her seemed to close in. A fury so wanton and potent it heated the very air blanketed the space around them. Intense humidity spontaneously manifested and made Annis’s skin grow clammy. Nothing worldly should have such uninhibited command over nature itself. For a few long moments, Annis genuinely wondered if they had somehow entered the realm of a vengeful god.

“ _ Foolish women. Thoust are no different from those who came before. I will add you to my pack of beasts and the world will forget you.”  _

The dense humidity morphed into pure, fiery heat. A column of flame was shot above their heads, spawned from thin air. Annis ducked, staggering once more from the display. Cinders found leaves and blades of grass, spawning small fires by her feet. She could only keep going. Sweat dotted her brow and dripped from her cheeks, but she kept going - taking twists and turns that confused her, but hopefully throwing her pursuers off her trail.

She realized too late to change direction that a pond was in her path. It was of oval shape - not very wide across but stretching far too long to her left and right. Attempting to go around would be useless. They would surely be flanked. It seemed as if the forest thinned out on the opposite side. Could it be that they’d somehow reached an edge? 

Annis knew she couldn’t afford to slow down. Even the slightest mistake could end her life. They didn’t have much choice. 

“Can you swim?!” Annis blurted, out, raising her voice to be heard over the ferocious growling at their backs. 

“If I have to.” 

“You have to.” The archer set Simaetha down as gently as she could. She nearly collapsed when she put weight on her feet, labored breath coming through clenched teeth. “Go,  _ now _ .” Annis nudged her shoulder, empathetic of her pain but needing her to move.

The succubus did as she was asked, knowing better than anyone to flee from a witch so enraged. Suffering through the pain, she waded into the water. 

Annis drew her bow once more and turned around. The wolves surged closer like a tidal wave. She fired arrow after arrow, usual accuracy waning from fear. A petrifying silhouette was perched atop a distant slope. It resembled a woman, though elk-like horns jutted from ragged hair. A staff of some sort was held in a gnarled hand. The archer did not need to stare any longer to identify her as Canidia. And never had she felt a deeper, more gripping dread.

She’d done as much damage as she could, the beasts were closing in. Strapping her bow to her chest once more, she leapt into the lake. The water was cold and thick with algae. Annis swam with broad strokes, heartbeat audible in her ears. Simaetha was struggling ahead of her, but she was simply relieved to see her afloat. The wolves were not deterred by the water. They dove straight in after their prey, and they were fast. 

She felt teeth sink into her boot. Before they pierced the skin, she kicked hard - foot finding a snout and loosening the jaw’s grip for a brief moment. The wolf bit again, only hader. Fangs broke leather and flesh, stopped only by bone. Annis fought through the searing pain long enough to draw her blade, slicing desperately at her attacker. Blood spilled on both sides, clouding the greyish water with crimson. Its jaw was locked shut. The archer stabbed the beast’s chest deeply, staring into its feral eyes. It was glaring with nothing but pure spite, but it was dying. 

Suddenly, red pupils turned to hardened grey. Matted, sopping fur became statuesque, and its flailing limbs froze mid-motion. Annis would never have believed it had she not seen it for herself. The wolf turned to solid stone.

Its teeth remained inside her ankle, having now grown cold. The weight of the creature was too much. The archer was pulled beneath the surface, sinking along with the forgotten bestial footsoldier. She kicked as hard as she could against the stone face to no avail. It sank deeper. She could hardly hold her breath. When she attempted to pull her trapped leg, she felt her flesh ripping further. Algae and grime stung the wound. 

In one final, desperate jerk, she wrenched herself free, stone fangs ripping sinewy shreds from her shin. Water flooded her lungs to near capacity as she scrambled to the surface. When she broke through, even though she knew better, all she could manage for lingering moments was taking gasping breaths of air and cough the invading fluid from her chest.. 

She needed to get out of the water.

Simaetha had just barely made it to shore. She laid there, taking deep, measured breaths to no doubt cope with her agony. Annis did her best to join her, swimming far less effectively with her injured foot.

_ “Thou shall not escape.” _

Annis glanced back the way they had come. Canidia herself stood at the pond’s edge. The archer felt as if she was witnessing something unintended for her eyes - as if truly no one should ever look upon this being. The witch’s staff was made of charred branches and crows’ feathers. Canidia struck it thrice against the muddied shore. Annis could only watch.

The water shifted. Its temperature warmed. Its consistency morphed. The archer struggled to comprehend the display of magic. She focused on what she did understand - that she had to get onto solid ground. Wolves still dove into the water with no consideration of their master’s alterations - blinded by unconditional obedience.

The water’s texture became grainy. It lost its transparency. Grey turned to diluted tan. Wetness became starkly dry. Sand.

Initially, Annis didn’t understand the intent behind the transformation. If anything, sand was easier to traverse. She kicked upward, but gained no ground. Something was pulling her - though it wasn’t a wolf. Quite the opposite, she could hear the dismayed yelps of the beasts as they too were tugged below. An unseen force dragged them all down deeper.

The archer couldn’t get a foothold. Sand kept slipping out from beneath her boots. Simaetha’s legs had still been in the pond, and the sand’s mysterious suction started to pull her back into its confines. The succubus thankfully felt herself slipping and resisted, grabbing fistfuls of dead grass to pull her body free. Annis had no such luck. The more she moved, the deeper she seemed to sink. Half her torso was already consumed by the shifting sand. 

The other wolves now had enough sense to avoid the pond and instead rounded its edge. They had quite a ways to go, but the two women still had little time. Simaetha could barely move. Her pain was utterly overwhelming, but she knew she didn’t have the luxury of wallowing in it. She’d noticed Annis’s dilemma - she’d felt the pull of the sand for herself.

A fallen branch laid just out of reach, and with her ever-dwindling strength she retrieved it. Annis had sunken nearly to her neck. It was natural to struggle against the pull despite it sinking her further, as panic prevented any and all usual pragmatism. Unable to regain her footing, all the succubus could do was crawl to the newly formed quicksand and extend the branch to the flailing archer. 

Sand flooded her mouth just as she managed to dig her nails into the bark of the offered lifeline. She sputtered the grains from her throat to no avail, desperately lifting her head above the surface as a wounded Simaetha pulled as hard as she could. The gash in her torso tangibly ripped further from the tremendous strain, but she gritted her teeth and held on. 

The fire of Canidia’s rage had spread to engulf the forest they’d come through - plumes of black smoke now tainting the sky. The witch stood as a foreboding silhouette against a backdrop of flame. Simaetha could barely breathe, unsure if her lightheadedness was from her paralyzing fear or her blood loss. The wolves were growing closer. Their eyes were set on Simaetha.

Finally, Annis felt her boot gain traction against what must have been the sloping side of the lake. She kicked desperately, lurching her torso from the tugging sand in one forceful burst. The wolves were nearly upon them. One of her hands could just barely grip onto the loose dirt of the shore, and she dug her fingers as deeply as they could go into the ground. Simaetha discarded the branch to clutch the archer’s forearm with both hands, and pulled.

Her efforts were in vain. A wolf reached the succubus and lunged - slamming the entirety of its body weight into her already wounded form. The two were sent tumbling away from Annis, gnashing teeth being kept from Simaetha’s neck only by weak, trembling hands. 

The witch was unsatisfied with her minions’ performance and decided to intervene once more, furious the intruders had traversed the lake at all. In her rage she extended her staff once more, a bolt of lightning shooting from it and striking a tree at its base. Her lividity clouded her judgement and misguided her aim. The struck tree fell hard, blocking the path to the two women by obstructing her wolves. The ground itself violently shook as a cry of frustration tore from Canidia’s haggard throat. 

With one final kick, Annis sprung fully from the confines of the quicksand and found herself on solid earth once more. She took only a moment to cough the foul mixture of sand and water from her lungs before rushing to Simaetha’s aid. The fallen tree had been set aflame by lightning and the witch’s confused minions struggled to find an alternate route. 

Still clutching her dagger in one hand, Annis threw it full force at the wolf atop Simaetha. The blade found its target in the beast’s neck. It collapsed atop the succubus with one final yelp, morphing slowly into its past human form as it died. The archer kicked the now humanoid body from her companion in disgust, revealing a writhing and agonized Simaetha. There were tears streaming down her cheeks from what must have been unspeakable pain. 

Annis was potently aware of the laceration to her own ankle, making it hard to walk or put any weight on her left side. Her only option was to ignore it. The obstacle of the tree would only serve them for so long. They needed to move despite their injuries. She wasn’t steady enough to carry Simaetha as she had before. All she could manage was helping the succubus to her feet and slinging her arm over her shoulders - supporting her as well as she was able.

Their only option was delving headfirst deeper into the forest in narrow hopes that they would reach its edge. Simaetha’s breathing was intensely labored. Annis’s newly acquired limp drastically lessened their previous speed. She was well aware they couldn’t outrun the wolves in their current state. Once they found their trail again, they had no chance. 

They needed to take refuge. Fleeing was not an option any longer. Annis knew they would either have to hide, or fight. She had lost many of her arrows already. Though she’d retrieved her thrown dagger, it would not be of much use against dozens of ferocious werewolves. Confidence in one’s own abilities did not translate to invincibility. 

The treeline continued to grow more sparse as they pushed forward. The forest could not go on much longer, but neither could they. Canine panting could be heard at their backs. At least one of the beasts had found their trail and would reach them in moments.

“Annis--” Simaetha struggled to speak, “There - that cave.” 

The succubus had gestured to a small opening in an adjacent craggy wall of rock. There was a mutual, unspoken understanding between the two that there could be no more running. Their survival now depended entirely on how well they could hide.

Annis led the two of them into the cavern’s confines. It was nearly pitch black, stretching extensively into a shrouded, dank chamber. Simaetha winced suddenly, gripping at her laceration and stopping mid-step. Her willpower had been utterly exhausted - she couldn’t move any longer. Without hesitation the archer ignored the pain in her ankle to delicately lift the succubus and carry her further into the cave. Simaetha weakly circled her arms around Annis’s neck, expression contorted into one of pure excruciation. It was practically a miracle she had remained upright as long as she had. Once there was sufficient distance between them and the cave’s entrance, Annis set her companion gently onto the ground and drew her bow. 

Her notched arrow remained trained on the cave’s entrance for long, lingering moments of absolute dread. The chaos could still be heard from the outside - crackling flames, Canidia’s ferociously barked orders, howling and snarling of countless beasts. A bead of sweat dripped from the archer’s brow, knowing that the steadiness of her aim would be the determiner between life and death. 

Finally, a wolf appeared in her sights. It spotted them through the dark, baring its massive teeth and readying its claws. 

She loosed her arrow. It made contact, though admittedly not at her desired target. A sharp intake of breath shifted her bow, and the arrow pierced the muscly sinew of the beast’s thigh. It yelped, the projectile having fully impaled its limb. Before it could regain any mobility, Annis shot once more. This arrow was more accurate, but not flawless - landing squarely in the beast’s stomach. Severely wounded but not dead, the monster retreated the way it had come, whimpering pitifully as it returned to an ungrateful master. 

For a few lingering moments, no more wolves appeared. Annis took the opportunity to relocate Simaetha to a space out of view of the entrance - a small alcove in the cavernous chamber. Rightfully untrusting of the respite, she returned to her guarded position. Only three arrows remained in her quiver. There were far more than three wolves still pursuing them.

Time slowly crept on. The pitch black shadows of the cave served as natural concealment, but Annis didn’t let herself trust it. Only once did she see a wolf rush straight past the cave, seeming completely unaware of its existence altogether. The fire from the fallen tree had spread. Canidia’s fury at their escape still resulted in the quaking of the earth, a force so strong that dust fell from the cave’s ceiling as well as loose ruble. Annis tried desperately to steady herself, to ignore the burning pain in her ankle and the undeniable terror gripping her chest. 

But eventually, the air shifted. The roaring flames previously visible extinguished spontaneously - burnt leaves returning to their previous green and charred bark of tree trunks repairing itself in moments. The archer was so stunned, she wondered if she had hallucinated the entire scene, but the potent stench of smoke still lingered as evidence. The ground beneath their feet stopped its violent rumbling, and the distant howls of an endless supply of canine foot soldiers could no longer be heard. Was it truly over?

Annis remained skeptical, fear having seeped into her very bones. The wolf that had run past before now returned the way it had come, its posture relaxed and its fierceness subdued. Canidia must have called them off. 

The archer’s heightened guard was finally lowered when Simaetha winced sharply. Realizing that their newfound safety may be short lived, she set down her bow and turned her full attention to the writhing succubus. Now that they weren’t being actively hunted, she could properly examine the wound. And it was absolutely gruesome.

“ _ Shit _ ...” She couldn’t help but softly exclaim.

The cut was so deep Annis could see the very bones of Simaetha’s ribs. Muscles and tendons were openly exposed to the elements, torn at various spots from either the beast’s claws or the awful over-exertion the succubus had endured after receiving the initial wound. A laceration so severe would have killed any mortal almost instantly, if not from the sheer trauma of it, from the blood loss following. Originally Annis had been prepared to treat the injury, but now that she was staring down at it she was at a complete loss.

“Gods, Simaetha.” The archer delicately reached forward to help, to intervene, but stopped still. She was utterly unsure of what she could do that wouldn’t cause further pain. “How were you even moving?”

The succubus couldn’t muster a response right away, instead violently trembling where she lay. Instinct consuming her, Annis clasped Simaetha’s hand with both of her own. Instantly the contact was met with a vice grip, the succubus no doubt welcoming the coping outlet. 

“I’ve... felt worse.”

Annis smiled ever so slightly at the attempted humor, “Alright, braggart.” Simaetha suddenly hissed through her teeth, wrenching her grip on the archer’s hands as her back arched off the ground. “How can I help?” 

“My... mortar. And pestle.” The succubus attempted to shrug her satchel from her shoulders unsuccessfully. Annis quickly assisted, retrieving the aforementioned materials. Simaetha pitifully and weakly reached for her tools, “Let me see.”

“No. Tell me what to do.” 

The succubus laughed weakly, “Didn’t think I’d ever hear you say that.” Her soft chuckles quickly devolved into pained coughs, blood passing from her lips and splattering her pale cheek. She wiped it away before Annis had a chance to, “White stems, red leaves, yellow petals. Three pouches.” 

Annis nodded, retrieving the ingredients with deft fingers. Once she’d ground them all to a fine powder, she looked to her companion once again.

“Dust it... over.” 

The archer did as she was told, being perhaps overly cautious so as not to cause any undue pain. At first the succubus tensed from the sensation of anything touching the open wound, but she then slowly let out a long breath of relief. Her expression finally softened. 

“Any better?” Annis inquired gently.

The question was not met with an answer. Instead, Simaetha gestured vaguely toward Annis’s ankle, which still bled in small trickles onto the cave floor. Understanding her meaning, the archer readily complied - dusting a fistful of the powder over her own injury. At first she flinched, startled by a sudden cold sensation, but it quickly devolved into welcome relief. 

The two were now both as healed as they had the means to become, and although they were still in potential danger if they were discovered by the witch again, they took the opportunity to catch their breath. Annis leaned against the wall of the cave at Simaetha’s side, sighing heavily from exhaustion. The sound of now steadied breathing echoed around the dark chamber, as well as the occasional drip from scattered stalactites above. It was an incredibly calming ambiance compared to the absolute mayhem they had endured mere minutes prior.

Simaetha lifted her head to look at her companion, a question coming to her mind once they were in relative safety. “You know I can’t die. Why were you so furious at that first wolf?” 

At first, the archer genuinely wasn’t sure of her answer. Thinking back on the moment, all she could remember was her rage. Was it at herself, for not having gotten there in time? Was it simply at the wolf, for causing a wound that would likely delay their escape? Or was it for something much simpler that she was questionably hesitant to admit?

Truthfully, Annis lacked the energy necessary to either fabricate a lie or to overthink her response. With a deep breath, she explained herself with candor, “I didn’t like seeing you hurt.”

Although Simaetha wasn’t entirely sure what answer she’d expected, it most certainly hadn’t been what she’d received. 

A comfortable silence spread between the two as they reveled in their temporary ease. The archer thought back to Gallio and his warnings, wondering what might have become of them had they not known of the dangers of this forest beforehand. They’d very nearly died multiple times and they’d been fully prepared. She glanced down at the woman beside her, who stared up at the cave’s ceiling with golden eyes, and felt another pang of empathy pierce her chest. She’d stood no chance against that witch’s magic so long ago. In truth, being struck down on the spot may have been a preferable fate. Of course she’d never express something so pessimistic aloud to someone already wallowing in their own struggles. 

Simaetha shut her eyes, “Fuck witches.”

Annis smiled, nudging the succubus’s foot with her own bare, bloodied one, and readily agreed. “ _ Fuck _ witches.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading <3 please leave a comment if you have time! they make me very happy and give me inspo even during this hellish quarantine. thank you all for the support!!


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